


Bonfire Night

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Autumn, Ball, Boat Race, Bonfire Night, Bullying, Coma, Dating, Drama, Event Planning, F/M, Falling out, Family, Favouritism, Fear, Fireworks, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Gender Stereotyping, Humour, Jealousy, Kidlock, Lies, Loneliness, Love Triangle, Multi, Science Experiments, Sexual References, Student Council, Teacher!Mrs Hudson, confidence issues, perception of truth, puzzle, relationships, role model, stroke, threat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-24 12:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 39,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17703923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: What will happen when Classroom 2B are assigned to make a boat for the boat race at the Bonfire Night event? Will the event go without a hitch?Mycroft and you are on the student council together, but when you agree to go to the autumn ball with Greg will your relationship with Mycroft stay the same? What will happen when Mycroft finds out your biggest secret?





	1. Bonfire Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be just a oneshot, but has grown and one further chapter will be added shortly. :)
> 
> Thanks so much for all your support. :3

Nestled firmly underneath the grey sky like a paperweight on the land of red, brown and orange leaves that have spilled over the usual green grass and muddy grey of the paths lies St. Mark’s Primary School in Hertfordshire.  
Its corridors are framed with blue lockers, whilst the floors of such corridors are tiled in dusty black and white squares. The sound of purple heels echoes down one of them and suddenly a curvy woman in a plum coloured dress enters Classroom 2B. 

 

“Settle down, settle down,” Mrs. Hudson says to her charges. The thirty or so seven and eight-year-old students, in their red jumpers, cotton collar t-shirts and smart dark trousers or skirts, are a lot rowdier than usual because Bonfire Night is coming up and everyone is very excited about their plans. Mrs. Hudson, who is resolutely thirty-nine and never forty has brown hair, which has a tint of blonde in it, green earrings and kindly hazel eyes. She’s had to keep more of an eye on her students of late and use her sharp mouth. They've never been particularly bothered about getting into trouble before, but they care even less about it now. Standing prominently in front of her desk she looks out at them all. 

 

Two to a table they’re at their usual spots.  
Sherlock Holmes is her favourite, and yes she _knows_ that she’s not supposed to have favourites, but he has fantastically dark hair like one of her sons has and eyes that are reminiscent of the sea. He sits by one of the tables in the middle of the class with his best friend John Watson.  
John has sandy coloured hair and a shorter stature. He’d transferred to the school a couple of years ago and had been a bit sickly and reserved at first, but since Sherlock has joined them he’s really come out of his shell. Currently he's gazing up at the other boy admirably, his mouth half-open as Sherlock explains something to him and gestures wildly with his hands.  
Looking at them somewhat enviously from a spot that’s by the windows is James Moriarty who wears an ugly scowl underneath his slicked back hair. Mrs. Hudson shudders as she looks at him. He really _is_ a most dreadful boy. There always seems to be at least one in every class-a troublemaker who is designed to test everyone else, not to mention _her._ He’s often there whenever there’s an argument, but is quick to charmingly get his side across to her and Mrs. Hudson hopes that when he goes to secondary school, if he hasn’t already, then he will straighten out. She’d divorced from her husband because _he_ hadn’t taken the straight and narrow path, but in the case of James she _knows_ that there’s a good boy in there somewhere. That there must be.  
Her eyes move on to Sebastian Moran who’s sitting next to James. His lank fringe almost covers his eyes up and he is crawling a rat toy up an oblivious James’s arm. Mrs. Hudson allows herself a smile. She’s not quite sure what to make of Sebastian-he can be a very creative boy, _especially_ it seems in killing and torturing insects, but as that alone suggests he is a little strange too. She’s happy though that James and he seem to manage to get on well. Perhaps over time Sebastian can be a bit bolder and have a good influence over James? Mrs. Hudson can only imagine how the lives of her current charges are going to unfold, but she _hopes_ that will happen.  
Molly Hooper has a desk all to herself in the front of the class and has plaited hair. She has everything neatly laid out in front of her and apart from the little thought bubble of something that’s drifting its way over her head she looks ready to work. Mrs. Hudson wishes that the _others_ could be more like her, though she _does_ worry sometimes about how isolated Molly seems. If she could only have more friends then Mrs. Hudson feels sure it would help her to flourish.  
At a desk close to the door sits Philip Anderson who’s clutching his favourite green T-Rex dinosaur toy. It’s slightly scuffed because he’s had it for some time now. He’s looking vaguely bored as the vivacious Sally Donovan with her thick dark afro chats to him non-stop, waving her manicured hands about. Mrs. Hudson doesn’t remember having manicured hands at her age and doesn’t quite know what to make of the girl _or_ her parents. They often come up with problems from thin air it seems to her. 

 

Slowly, and at her hand gesturing for them to do so, the class falls into silence and everyone looks her way. 

 

“Now today, Class 2B, I have some very exciting news for you. You might have heard Headmaster Stamford”-a round jolly man who had helped to encourage the friendship between Sherlock and John by using Sherlock’s punishment to get him to go and help John in the library-“Remind us all in this morning’s assembly that there’s going to be a Bonfire Night event in the park.” Some of her pupils faces show recognition at this, Molly’s being amongst them, but many do not. It seems to be almost impossible to get children who are so young to concentrate in the morning assembly, but then, and Mrs. Hudson nearly titters at this thought, it’s rather difficult for _her_ to concentrate. She’s always getting distracted by the antics of her class! “As part of that event, which I expect you all to attend and meet me here for, we will be conducting a science experiment.” The eyes of little Sherlock Holmes light up. Mrs. Hudson smiles. She knows that he often conducts experiments with his older brother Mycroft-who is fourteen and in the adjacent secondary school-at the weekends. John is invited over to take part in them too, but Sherlock and John can still be found to be enthusiastically discussing them on a Monday morning. At her words though there are many questions and comments: 

 

“A science experiment? What _kind_ of science experiment?”

 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go.”

 

“Yeah, Mum said that we’re doing something that night.”

 

“I bet it’s going to be something really big though! We might even find a dinosaur fossil!”

 

“Anderson no one in their right mind would let a class of seven-year-olds, especially one that contained _you_ in it, anywhere near anything as delicate as a dinosaur fossil.” That particular comment comes from Sherlock. “At least not a real one anyway.” He sniffs pompously. 

 

Little Molly Hooper says, “What time do we have to meet you here?”

 

Mrs. Hudson smiles at her through all the rabble. She knows that Molly is not intimidated too much by the thought of the science experiment. Whenever they've done ones in the past she’s always showed herself to be more than capable and even excelled at them. “Half-past six in the playground dear. The event itself starts at seven, but don’t worry about remembering it. A nice girl from the secondary school has brought a poster around and I’ve photocopied one for all of you.” Molly nods now and looks relieved about such a thing. Mrs. Hudson turns her attention to the way that Sherlock and Philip are glaring at one another across the classroom and how James in particular seems to be encouraging Sherlock into violence. She frowns and tries to knock his devil-like figure away from Sherlock’s shoulder. _“Yes,”_ she raises her voice, “A science experiment. You’ll all be working individually for this one”-there are some groans there-“But I think you’ll understand _why_ you will be in a moment.” She raises a finger. “I want you all to make a boat out of any materials that you can get your hands on. There are no rules about _how_ your boat has to look, but it mustn't be pre-made from a shop”-here James looks disappointed, as he’d already been planning to outdo all of the others-“Obviously we do not want anything that’s as big as a _real_ boat would be.” Mrs. Hudson again looks at James. John snickers. “You can start making plans and coming up with ideas in this afternoon’s session, but then, from that point on it is to be your homework project. You’ll have until the night of the event to complete it, _which,_ as our Headmaster reminded us this morning is in three days time.”

 

“Are we going to be having a boat race Mrs. Hudson?” Sebastian asks her keenly. 

 

“We are,” Mrs. Hudson confirms, and a bunch of excited muttering comes from the class. Sherlock is already trying to steal some paper from John, so that he can design his idea and John is trying to keep his workbook flat and away from his friend.

 

“Sherlock, no,” he hisses, “We have to wait.”

 

“We will be _doing_ it,” Mrs. Hudson’s voice rises again, “So that you can all see, which materials work best on the water. I want you to be writing what you’re using as you go along. I will also be asking you to do a report on the project, which we will work on together in class next week. The person whose boat makes it to the finish line first will get a prize.” 

 

Much questioning about what the prize is starts to ensue, but Mrs. Hudson will say no more on the matter. She simply tells Molly to dish out a piece of paper and a colouring pencil to everyone and sits behind her desk with a wry smile upon her face.

 

* 

 

The mysterious prize motivates everyone and before the end of the day is out most of the pupils have a good idea of what they want their boats to look like.  
Sherlock’s will be a pirate ship out of painted and varnished wood and with a black felt sail.  
John will try and make a lifeguard inspired boat out of a cut down rubber ring and some card. He’d seen a lifeguard demonstration on his last holiday with his family and had loved watching them, as they’d been very heroic.  
Sally wants to try and make a boat out of old make-up products and use lipstick tubes as the masts.  
Philip had enjoyed watching a documentary about Vikings with his father and wants to make a hole in the side of a plastic bottle to form the body of the boat and cut off one of the heads of his least favourite dinosaur toys-Philip, as Mrs. Hudson can attest from the time that she’d had to get in the middle of Sherlock and him when they’d been having a paint fight, has anger issues-and stick it on the front of his vessel.  
Sebastian plans on making a camouflaged boat out of wood and leaves.  
James intends on creating a yacht of sorts out of plastic. He wants to use the colours gold and white to make it look more expensive. There will also be a dash of purple here and there because that is Mrs. Hudson’s favourite colour and he really thinks that it will help Mrs. Hudson to see him as her favourite. He thinks that he’d been so close to getting her to do such a thing before Sherlock had moved into the area just over a year ago and is frustrated that it is taking more time.  
Molly though, does not have an idea yet. She struggles when she sees everyone managing to fit their passions into their ideas to come up with something herself. Her heart is torn in so many directions. She likes pink and cats and belting out a song every now and again. Not to mention reading and science. She just doesn’t see how she can bring all those elements together and timidly begins to draw a book with the pages open on her piece of paper in the hope that something better might come to her then and she might look as if she’s doing something. She knows that she could ask Mrs. Hudson for advice, but what with everyone else being so successful around her, doing such a thing would make Molly feel stupid. By the time that the bell rings she feels gloomy about it all. That’s in contrast to Sherlock who races out of the school in his red and puffy coat, a poster of the Bonfire Night event in his hand and his best friend John in tow. John is wearing a grey coat.

 

Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother, is approaching them with two of his friends-Greg Lestrade and F/N L/N. They’re walking beneath the darkening sky, across the leaf-littered grass and towards where the entrance of the school is. Some of the lights that are around the school are already on. Greg, who has his navy, red and white sports jacket tied around his waist looks scruffy. The white shirt that he’s got on sticks out from underneath his deep blue blazer. One of his hands holds F/N’s who is short/tall/of average height and has h/c hair and the tall and auburn haired Mycroft is actively trying to avoid the sight-his head is tilted off to one side, whilst his clothes are perfectly neat and presentable and hardly creased underneath his dark three-quarter length coat, even after a day of school. He soon gets a little distracted however when Sherlock and John barrel towards him, crunching over the leaves to do so. The three older students come to a stop. 

 

“Myc! Myc!” Sherlock clamours in front of his brother, holding the poster his way. F/N and Greg grin at the nickname. Greg looking particularly wolfish with his brown-silver hair. Mycroft however doesn’t smile at what Sherlock has just called him. “We’re going to be doing a science experiment at the Bonfire Night event and I need to build a really great pirate ship and you _have_ to help me!”

 

“Oh do I now?”

 

 _“Yes!”_ Sherlock is persistent. 

 

“I'm sure that I can help you come up with something in that case.” Mycroft looks a little happier and takes the poster from Sherlock. He barely looks at it. 

 

“No, it has to be really good. The best one ever!” Sherlock waves his arms. 

 

“Of course.” Mycroft’s lips twist. 

 

“Myc, stop teasing your brother. You know you’re going to help him,” Greg says in a fashion of lost patience, before he pulls the poster from Mycroft’s hand and studies it. “Hey F/N,” he looks up, “Didn't _you_ come up with this poster?” 

 

Mycroft looks annoyed again for a moment, before his face smoothes over. “F/N made them as part of her student council duties Gregory,” he says, before F/N can reply. 

 

F/N eyes Mycroft a little. He’s been acting a bit odd ever since she’d tentatively told him that Greg had asked her if she’d go out with him to the autumn ball at the end of the month and she’d told him that she would. She’d blurted it out to Mycroft a little hurriedly when they’d been walking their laps around the playing field during P.E. Neither of them are the athletic type and though both of them are a lot thinner than either of them think they are, they try and avoid running anywhere when they can. Greg, however, _is_ the athletic type and genial as well. It surprises both F/N and Mycroft that he sometimes seems to prefer their company to the rowdiness of the football team. When she’d told Mycroft that day however about what had transpired between her and Greg she’d been nervous. Perhaps because of the way she _feels?_ One of the reasons she'd accepted Greg's offer had been because she's becoming more resigned to the fact that Mycroft _can't_ feel as strongly as she does towards him, towards her, that he mustn't, that he isn't just covering it up or being shy, that in his mind they only work well together as friends and nothing more than that and she shouldn't be putting offers she has from anyone else on hold just to carry on hoping. He would have said something by now if he did, right? Or given her more of a sign? He wouldn't have left her in limbo like this. His moodiness though is making her wonder. He _couldn't_ could he? He couldn't _actually_ feel that way about her after all?

 

“Yeah, all right Mr. Head of the Student Council.” Greg rolls his eyes a little and F/N startles a little at the sound of his voice and reminds herself that she's with him now. From Greg's perspective though, as much as Greg likes them-F/N though more than Mycroft-he feels a little insecure sometimes about the amount of memories Mycroft and F/N have with one another. Though technically Greg’s known her for the longest-F/N and he had gone to the same primary school, the one that Sherlock and John now go to in fact-Mycroft and her, despite the fact that Mycroft’s known her for only over a year, have more experience of being close together and have worked with one another on the student council. F/N’s _always_ doing things with him. How can Greg compete with a thing like that? It’s not like he’s expecting her to be, ‘the _one,’_ or anything. He’s only fourteen and he wants to have experiences with different people. _But,_ at this moment in time, he _really_ likes her. She’s smart and dedicated and driven, but with a wacky sense of humour and can laugh at the silliest of things. It’s kind of ridiculous, but he’d fallen for her when she’d snorted Pepsi up her nose when they’d been watching a YouTube video together. He hadn’t expected her to like it as much as she had done and the fact that she had, had really endeared her to him. He’s been working out a way to ask her out ever since and the ball had seemed like the perfect excuse for such a thing. 

 

“I put some posters around town and gave all the organizations who are going to be involved a copy,” F/N tells them efficiently, before she softens her tone a little when she adds, “I had my pirate crew help me out though, didn't I?” She smiles at Sherlock now. Mycroft’s heart skips a beat as it always does at the sight of her being kind to his brother. 

 

 _“My_ pirate crew,” Sherlock corrects her, “I only let you be Captain for one day.” 

 

“Thank you Captain Sherlock,” F/N smiles in a wry fashion at him. 

 

“That’s Captain _Holmes_ to you!” Sherlock growls, jumping forward now and F/N and he do a loop around the others, as he chases her and they have a pretend sword fight, closing their hands like fish and swishing them this way and that. Greg looks exasperated; Mycroft charmed, whilst John goes up and down on the balls of his feet and makes sure that Sherlock doesn’t need any help. F/N comes back into position and swipes her hair away from her face, before she returns her hand to Greg’s again. He looks as pleased as punch about the thing. Mycroft suddenly looks less light. “Why are you holding hands with George?” Sherlock is puzzled. 

 

“It’s _Greg,”_ the boy says through gritted teeth, feeling distinctly annoyed with Mycroft’s younger brother. 

 

“Is it part of some new game?” John wonders, ignoring Greg and holding hands with Sherlock. Sherlock turns his head to look at him. “Now we’re part of it too!” John whoops with delight and Sherlock smiles, his eyes glittering a multitude of colours like a slither of sea that has been lit up by a lighthouse.

 

“It’s _not_ a game.” Mycroft wrenches their hands apart and begins to stride off home. 

 

F/N looks after him in a thoughtful disappointment and Sherlock does the same. 

 

“I’ll hold your hand anyway,” John says, re-claiming Sherlock’s palm reassuringly in his, as the two, shepherded by F/N and Greg, begin to follow after Mycroft. Out in front Mycroft sighs at hearing John saying such a thing. 

 

*

 

Mycroft doesn’t say a word however until he reaches the small dark brown gate of the terraced house in which Sherlock and he live. A red can of Coke has been squashed by the outside wall. Huffing out a breath and forcing himself to ignore such a thing Mycroft turns back to the others. Unfortunately it’s just in time to see Greg explaining to F/N that he’s got to go-he’d only walked this far in order to spend time with her and will now be heading back to school for football practice-and kissing her on the lips. John and Sherlock tilt their heads back to them in astonishment and look very much like baby penguins as they do so. 

 

 _“Eurgh!”_ Sherlock exclaims, before he informs John, “I’ve heard that you can catch many bugs from kissing. I fully intend to avoid it. I don’t want to be taken over by them. Mummy says that the only way you can get clean sometimes is to wash your mouth out with soap, and I _don't_ want that.” John gawps at him for a moment and then quickly nods his head as if to say that he’ll try and avoid doing anything that might require his mouth to be washed out with soap as a result of it too. 

 

Mycroft rolls his eyes at his brother and is about to pull him away. He stops from going forwards however when Greg and F/N pull apart, making a noise like his mother’s sink plunger as they do so. He tries to ignore F/N’s flushed cheeks or the way that she shyly bids Greg farewell. Greg gives them all a bit of a wave and Mycroft likes to think that the other boy looks smug and pleased with himself because that way he is far easier to dislike. F/N watches Greg go for a moment; as if she’s simply enchanted by the way that he’s able to walk, before she recovers herself and turns back to look at Mycroft a little challengingly. 

 

Mycroft quirks an eyebrow up at her, wishing that she’d look at _him_ like that. _“Dinner?”_ he asks. 

 

“Please.” She nods. She often stays with the Holmes family after school because her mother does shift work at the hospital. F/N prefers being with people than an empty house, Mycroft knows, and he is thankful that the crazier and busier aspects of his family-the parts which _he_ most dislikes himself-are the ones which can serve as a good distraction for her. Her father lives in Africa with his new wife and he barely ever sees F/N. It had taken F/N a long time to tell him such a thing. Her father with his new wife run Safari Tours together and a very tight ship apparently, though Mycroft doesn’t know _how_ F/N knows this. He does know however that she feels sad about it sometimes and his eyes catch sight of the African-style bracelet that she always insists on wearing upon her wrist. He can always tell when she’s feeling particularly anxious about something in a student council meeting because she’ll fiddle with it, whilst she talks. It’s an useful tell really. She’d also done such a thing when she’d told him about Greg and her going out that afternoon. Mycroft’s face falls. 

 

Sherlock waves goodbye to John who lives further down the road from them and then Mycroft, F/N and he all head inside. 

 

They can a smell a stew cooking as soon as they walk in, and the kitchen, which is at the back of the house, looks even more inviting because the light is on there. Mycroft’s stomach rumbles. F/N looks at him knowingly and even though he’s not on the best of terms with her right now he can’t help the crooked grin and blush that cross his face. 

 

“Your mum always makes the greatest food,” F/N tells him inclusively, as they dump their things by the door and shed their coats and shoes-Mycroft's mother forbids them from being worn inside the house. 

 

“I know,” he grins just a little too widely and can’t help but feel happy about what she’s just said. 

 

“Oh, hello dears,” Violet comes bustling out from the kitchen. She has an apron on over her curvy frame and a wooden spoon that has sauce on it in one hand. Her blue eyes twinkle merrily at them in contrast to the darkness of the hallway. “Good day at school was it?”

 

Sherlock begins to tell her excitedly about the Bonfire Night event. Mycroft and F/N would usually exchange a few words as he rambled on, his pitch of tone getting higher and lower erratically in his excitement, but there is no talking between them that night, for the awkwardness covers them like an avalanche. 

 

Violet notices their silence and looks in between them once her youngest son has finally trailed off. “What about you two? Anything happen?” Her eyes slide from one of them to the other. “Any exciting student council news that I need to be aware of?”

 

“Mummy, that’s a contradiction,” Sherlock pipes up, “Student council is _never_ exciting.”

 

“On the contrary the event that you’re looking forward to so much wouldn’t even be _occurring_ without the aid of the student council,” Mycroft tells his brother importantly, before he announces promptly, “The student council are helping to organize the stalls for the Bonfire Night event and anything extra to promote it that needs doing. We've been working on it for several weeks now. In fact it was _me_ who came up with the science experiment in the hopes that it would serve as a link between the two schools, include the younger community, their parents, and in the hopes of course that _you’d_ like it I suppose.” His gaze turns soft. 

 

“Myc, that’s gross!” Sherlock instantly dismisses any sign of affection from his brother. 

 

Violet just laughs, before she looks at her eldest son carefully. She likes the way that he’d spoken because that had been very _him,_ her knowledgeable and sometimes pompous son. _Yet,_ something about it had also come across as him trying to pick himself up after a fall too. She watches the way that he looks suddenly irritated when F/N twirls a strand of h/c hair between her fingers with a thoughtful look upon her face. Something has evidently happened between them, but she hopes that whatever disagreement they've had it won’t go on for long. Its been nice having F/N around the house, and though her husband Edwin has often heeded caution about getting too attached to the girl just in case she's opening herself up to hurt again, as well as warning her not to project a false image onto her and make her live up to impossibly high standards, Violet hasn’t been able to help but do so at times. She’d lost her own daughter-the sister that Sherlock doesn’t even remember having now-to social services after a fire that had been started by her had engulfed their old home. That’s why they’d moved here just over a year ago. Violet hopes it will prove to be the best thing for her family in the long run, though she does miss the countryside sometimes. 

 

*

 

“I'm seeing someone,” F/N confesses to Violet, as she sits on top of the kitchen island, her legs swinging about a little, whilst the boys are upstairs changing and Violet’s heart sinks. She knows that Edwin would call this her getting carried away again and making flowers bloom when they haven’t even been planted yet, but she hadn’t been able to help but picture Mycroft and F/N getting together and F/N literally becoming her daughter-in-law one day. She knows that right now her son is very fond of her, and as hard as Violet is on him sometimes she’s impressed that, being the sort of boy he is, he’s managed to forge a connection so soon after everything that’s happened. She knows that he’d been quite keen to hide himself away and thinks that F/N must be incredibly special for him to have reversed his decision and that he must need her. There is no doubt to her that F/N has been one of the best things, along with the fact that he’s now running the student council after he’d gone to the Headmistress with several good ideas for it, to happen to him after the move. Right now Violet _knows_ that F/N’s news might well be the cause for her son’s odd mood, whether he knows that he’s in love with her or not. His feelings for her speak to the world in the soft glances he casts her sometimes, as they work on a project around the kitchen table. “Greg Lestrade,” F/N confesses, breaking that pleasant memory of Violet’s with a grave quietness, as if she senses that she’s being disappointing to her and the name becomes imprinted in the older woman’s mind. “He’s really sporty,” F/N goes on more enthusiastically, “But for some reason he’s taken to hanging out with Myc and me.” Violet wishes that the young woman, like her eldest son sometimes, could have more confidence in herself. She finds them both so _very_ frustrating at times. “Not that he shouldn't hang around with Myc,” she quickly corrects, “Myc and I are just very different from him.” 

 

“Is he on the student council?” Violet enquires, trying to be able to paint a picture of this young man in her mind and walk a line between being curious and polite. She pours some orange squash for F/N, Mycroft and Sherlock, whilst she listens out for the answer since her back is turned to the girl. 

 

“No,” F/N murmurs, before she accepts the drink from her gratefully and takes a little sip of it. 

 

“But I'm sure he soon will be. Isn't that correct?" Mycroft comes into the room with a brisk energy and sends F/N a challenging gaze. "That you'll be asking my permission for him to join or be trying to find the perfect role for him yourself?” He still hasn't decided what he's going to do _should_ she ask for Greg to be able to join the student council. Her happiness is something that is important to him, but Mycroft is not quite sure if he could bear having to witness them canoodling, whilst he attempts to conduct the vital work of the student council. At least he's in control of _that_ much. He swipes his juice off from the counter, before he goes to sit down by the circular table in the corner. Black and white artwork of old houses in square frames lay on the blue walls in that section. “After all, you spend so much time around school doing things for it. How will you see him otherwise?”

 

“I don’t want him to join the student council,” F/N says, twisting her neck around to look at him and Violet feels sorry for the pair of them, “Because the council is _our_ thing.” _‘You turned it around. It was dead, before you came. I was on the verge of quitting.’_ She’d shared those things with him before, but is too embarrassed to do so again with his mother being present. 

 

Mycroft eyes her half-approvingly, as if he knows what she’d continued to think and is grateful for such a thing. _“So,_ what’s your thing with _Gregory_ going to be then?” He notices how F/N has a juice stain above her lips, but tries to avoid looking at it too much by taking a large gulp of his own drink. He hopes that his mother hadn’t noticed where his gaze had just gone. He already thinks that she’s got ideas about them and the thought has made him sigh on more than one occasion. 

 

“I don’t know,” F/N says just as Sherlock comes into the room, stops and looks between them both. She hasn’t really thought about it. The thing between Greg and her had happened so suddenly. “Going to watch his football games I guess and cheering him on,” she sounds a little uncertain and Mycroft quickly picks up on it. 

 

“What about you?”

 

 _“Hm?”_ F/N _really_ doesn’t know where he’s going with this, though she feels that stupid thrill of hope again. [Stupid because why can't things in her life ever be straight forward?] 

 

Mycroft puts his tumbler down on the table with a small thump and uses the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth. “When’s he going to support _you?”_

 

Sensing that they could do with a minute to go over things and feeling uncomfortable with the presence of her youngest son there, Violet puts the heat of the cooker on low. She then goes around, gives a quick squeeze of Mycroft’s shoulder, which she hopes that he will interpret as her telling him not to be too hard on the poor girl, which is _exactly_ what she means after F/N being such a good friend to him and steers her son Sherlock into the living room. [She does think though, that if F/N _does_ have feelings for her son, and it's not just her own wishful thinking that she does, that she could have taken control of the situation and confessed to having them a lot earlier. Surely she knows that her son won't do it himself by now?] 

 

“What’s going on?” her youngest asks, as soon as they’re sat on the brown settee that has red and white checked cushions upon it. 

 

“Your brother just needs a moment that’s all.” Her hand fidgets, before it comes to rest on one of his bony shoulders. She listens out for the sound of voices. “Would you like to help me do the fire?” she asks him a little distractedly. “The room will be all warm for later on then.” 

 

“But what’s going _on?”_ Sherlock persists, not caring about the fire in the least. He hates that he doesn’t have all the answers and has to rely on other people for them. He hopes that one day he won’t have to at all. “Is Greg trying to steal F/N away from Mycroft? She’s Mycroft’s best friend isn’t she? She can’t just be taken away from him, l-like Redbeard was from me. It’s not fair.” Redbeard, a Red Setter dog, used to be Sherlock’s best friend until he’d gone missing, before they’d moved away from their previous house. Sherlock had tried to run away there on their first weekend here and go back to try and search for him. 

 

“You have John now,” Violet tries to console him, feeling glad that Sherlock seems to have settled in reasonably well and has a friend too, though thoughts of Victor, who had been the _real_ Redbeard and a boy, not a dog, but still Sherlock’s best friend all the same fill her head for a moment.

 

“But John’s not always here like Redbeard was.” That’s how Sherlock remembers it anyway. Redbeard was always there when he needed him. He was the best dog in the whole world. He misses having someone constantly there like that and he doesn’t like the thought of more changes. 

 

Back in the kitchen F/N is getting flustered when she tries to answer Mycroft’s question, _“Well,_ I guess he’ll just do that through coming to events like the Bonfire Night one.”

 

 _“Hm,”_ Mycroft doesn’t sound convinced. 

 

“Do you have a problem?” F/N puts her drink down and slides off the kitchen island. “You’ve been acting really weird ever since I told you about Greg.” She turns to face him. 

 

Mycroft rolls his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. “No, no problem,” he says, as he curls a finger around his cup, “I just didn't think you’d go for someone like _him,_ that’s all.” The iciness to his tone tells her that, that’s _far_ from all it is. 

 

“What do you mean? I thought you _liked_ Greg?” F/N’s pained. 

 

“I know we've been going to some matches to support him F/N,” Mycroft sighs, as if this is already weighing heavily upon his mind, “But you’re not _into_ football,” he reminds her, “You’re a student council girl. You’re into studying and trying to work things out. I’ve barely been here and even _I_ know that. What do you have in common with him?” He's desperate. 

 

F/N has to think about such a thing for a moment. “We have a laugh,” she shrugs, “We get on. He’s a decent guy. He’s not like all the other twats,” she’s floundering now and has to wave her hands about. The truth is, ever since Mycroft and his family have come into her life, she’s felt like she’s been closer to them than anyone else, but close to Mycroft especially. Not only has Mycroft re-vamped the student council and annoyed several people for coming at the top of nearly every class and taking their places from them, he’s been vital in pulling her out of her lonely and dreary kind of existence. If he needs her then she needs him just as much and it's no wonder her feelings have snowballed. 

 

“The twats _he_ hangs out with?” Mycroft asks her lightly. His eyebrow rises as he looks at her, hoping that she’ll come to her senses and remember what her life had been like before. He’d never be arrogant enough [at least not out loud, though that’s certainly how he feels about it on the inside] to say that he’s made her life much better than it had been-and its surprised even him that he’s been able to do such a thing and have that effect on anyone-but the evidence is there. He _knows_ that she hadn’t been happy with a lot of her classmates or felt particularly tied to anyone and now she’s suddenly going out with Gregory? Where had _that_ come from? Is she lonely again? Mycroft frowns, feeling quite irrationally like she has no right to be, not with his family and him now there. 

 

“Can’t you just be happy for me?” She stares at him. “The most popular guy at school asks me out and”-Mycroft snorts- _“What?”_ She looks at him. “What is _wrong_ with you?” 

 

“I thought you were above all that?” He eyes her coolly. 

 

“Above wanting to be liked? Wanting to have one moment where I get to know what it’s like to _be_ someone?” Mycroft scoffs yet again. “I don’t think even _you’re_ above that Myc. You came to this school and you put yourself in charge of the student council as soon as you could. You were _gunning_ for that job.” 

 

 _‘Yes, to keep busy, so I wouldn’t have to think of…’_ He can’t tell her that. Instead he tells her, “It wasn't to be popular, but anyone would be pleased to be in control of such an organization. It will look good for university applications and”- 

 

“Not before you came they weren’t. No one wanted the job.”

 

“Well, _you_ could have taken it,” he waves a hand at her, “Instead of just being happy to complain about it you could have _done_ something. There’s no point getting angry with me just because _I_ did something.”

 

“I tried to, but they all just spoke over me, that’s why I was”-

 

“About to take your leave from the club?”

 

She nods. Since then though, and Mycroft’s takeover, she doesn’t get as trodden on as before because she’s been put in a more official place of authority. No matter _what_ reason they might have for _thinking_ that she’s there, the fact that she’s very much Mycroft’s second-in-command and he’s shown that he’s had a no nonsense attitude to a couple of other people who he’d [successfully] thrown out of the student council for their lack of ideas and work, is enough to have gotten her _some_ respect too. Her thoughts trail on until she ends up saying, “You could have done something. Instead of getting so upset with me now about it all you could have saved us both this hassle if you’d asked me to the ball yourself.” 

 

“I was going to,” Mycroft confesses, as he looks at her. 

 

 _“What?”_ F/N whispers. She can barely believe her ears. Did he just say what she _thinks_ he did? Her heart begins to pound.

 

One of the saucepans froths up, causing its lid to tremble a little, but they both ignore it. Mycroft’s hands feel close to shaking and he presses them close to his trousers, so that they might calm down and she won’t see them. “I was going to ask if you’d like to lead the dance with me. It seemed only right to, in the circumstances. I can’t very well lead it on my own and since it was decided by the Parent-Teacher Association that the student council should take more of an outward role on these things and be more of a good influence on everyone”- He can’t quite look at her. Of course he hadn't just wanted to ask her for those reasons. 

 

 _“Oh,”_ her voice is soft. She’s not quite sure if he’d felt it his _duty_ to ask her or not, but either way it would have been a nice thing and it would have made her feel important to boot. Maybe even more so than going out with the most popular boy in the school. 

 

“I just didn't quite get around to it.” Mycroft pushes at the floor with his foot, before he looks up at her and says airily, “Wasn't expecting to have the competition.” She flinches a little, but the truth is she’s curious more than offended. 

 

“Because I'm not attractive?” She’s never thought of herself as being the best looking girl in school, and in any case she’s always prized other things than that, but she’s a little nervous all the same about how their conversation might progress now that she’s asked him what she has. What if he _agrees_ with her?

 

Mycroft looks surprised for a moment and then quickly resigned. _“No,_ because I never thought that”-

 

Before F/N can hear any more Sherlock tumbles into the kitchen. “Why are you fighting?” His hair looks mused and his eyes are a little red, as if he might have been crying. He _definitely_ hasn’t been helping his mother with the fire like she’d wanted him to.

 

“We’re not Sher,” F/N says, trying to be mindful of his feelings, even though she feels like sighing because _what_ had Mycroft been about to tell her? 

 

Sherlock looks at her now, as if he wants to believe in what she’s just said, but her face is strained. “I want you to work on my pirate ship with me, before dinner’s ready.”

 

“We’ll do all that later,” Mycroft is curt and annoyed, both with his brother for interrupting them because he always seems to be getting disrupted by his siblings and with himself for having started speaking in the first place. His face feels taut and embarrassed. 

 

“But I want _F/N_ to help us,” Sherlock whines. 

 

Mycroft feels a flash of anger inside him because he’s never good enough for anyone and he’s suddenly glad that Sherlock had stopped him from saying anything more to F/N because what on _earth_ had he been thinking? Had he _really_ thought that she’d ever harbour such feelings for him? She’s going out with Gregory! He’d been about to make himself vulnerable when he hadn’t needed to. In any case, if he’d proceeded to speak then it would have probably made student council meetings a lot more uncomfortable, what with F/N’s rejection of him. “Girls don’t know anything about making boats Sherlock,” he’s cruel, but then he can’t help it after he's nearly made himself so open to more hurt. 

 

His words shock both F/N and Sherlock however. They stare at him. Sherlock blinks as if everything that is going on is too much for even his super-powered brain to take and everything is changing all too quickly again, whilst F/N feels both furious and hurt that the boy who she would have pegged as the least sexist in their year has just labelled her in such a way. Tears spill out of her eyes without her being able to stop them. "You're such a robot sometimes." She swipes her tears away methodically, watches the way that Mycroft looks at first surprised and then subdued by her statement, as he won’t even meet her gaze, and then she attempts to leave the kitchen. Attempts to because Sherlock launches himself at her. 

 

“Don’t go!” He pushes his head against her stomach. 

 

“I'm sorry.” She makes a sound of dismay, runs a soothing hand through his curls, kisses at his hair and leaves, flouncing out as defiantly as she can considering that she has to shove her feet in her shoes again and grab her coat and bag. 

 

Inside the living room Violet’s heart sinks further. 

 

“Why do you have to be so mean?” Sherlock looks at his brother. Mycroft looks at him levelly. “Is it because Greg’s stealing F/N from you?” Mycroft notices, not for the first time, that Sherlock can remember Greg’s name if he so chooses to. 

 

“Its got nothing to do with that,” Mycroft dismissively turns his head away.

 

“So he _is?”_ Sherlock tries to figure out what’s going on. 

 

 _“Sher”-_ Mycroft begins warningly, before he gets up. 

 

“I hate you! I hate you! You’re always so mean and fat and you spoil everything!” Sherlock turns and flees. 

 

“Oh Sherlock dear,” Violet comes out of the living room. He ignores her and runs upstairs. 

 

“I know I do,” is what Mycroft says softly to himself in the kitchen.

 

*

 

F/N is cross. She decides to head back to school since her mum still won’t be home yet. She heads for the library and decides that she’ll bash out some work for the student council-the expenditures need updating in light of the Bonfire Night event costs-on the computer. She’ll pretend that every key on the keyboard represents Mycroft’s face. He might have just admitted that he’d wanted to ask her to the dance, and he’d done even that in such a floundering fashion that she doesn’t know what his intentions are still-it almost makes her laugh to a point because she's been waiting for a moment like this for so long, but it hasn't helped her in the slightest-yet what a stupid thing to tell her afterwards! That girls don’t know how to make boats! She huffs as she gets the document up on screen. 

 

The library is quiet. There are three students who are looking at the reference books-two of them together and one of them alone-and F/N feels all the angrier when she recalls how many times Mycroft and her have done such a thing. He’d pulled their book down from the shelf once and she’d gone on to find the paragraph they'd needed and they’d made such a ridiculously good team even in something as simple as that, that it frustrates her beyond belief after what’s just transpired. She suddenly realizes that there’s a girl on the computer next to her and that she’s looking at her a little apprehensively. 

 

F/N squints. “It’s Molly right?” She’s sure that the girl’s in the same year as Sherlock and that she remembers seeing her in one of Sherlock’s parents meetings. Mycroft and her had skulked just outside the room with Sherlock, whilst Edwin and Violet had been inside. Mycroft had teased his brother and had said how their parents would be finding out right that second just how little he’d worked and how stupid he was and he wouldn’t be allowed home with them and then the east wind would surely come and get him. Sherlock had looked traumatized and F/N had told Mycroft off for being so cruel to him. Mycroft had chuckled a little, before he’d sobered upon seeing that F/N had been serious. She’d cast him a reproving gaze and put an arm around Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sorry, ignore me,” she says when Molly continues to stare at her and she comes back into the present and the reality of another fall out between Mycroft and her again. One of Molly’s milk teeth appears to be loose and she wobbles her tongue against it. “My friend’s-well I _think_ we’re still friends”-F/N smiles at Molly in a stressed out fashion-“His brother is in the same year as you I believe- _Sherlock?”_

 

“Oh yes,” Molly relaxes a little, “My dad’s the caretaker. I'm just waiting for him to finish.”

 

“Mr. Hooper?” Molly nods. “He was really co-operative when the student council were running a clean-up operation around the school.” F/N remembers another fond memory that unfortunately has Mycroft in it. _“Anyway…”_ she comes out of it, “I'm waiting for Mum to get home.”

 

“You look a little frustrated. Is it something to do with not knowing whether you’re still friends with the boy that you mentioned? Sorry,” Molly amends quickly, “My dad says that I'm good at figuring out people’s emotions, but that I don’t always ask them in the right way.”

 

“No it’s”-F/N tries to wave a hand and brush everything aside, but she finds that she gets a sudden lump in her throat-“What are you doing?” She nods suddenly at Molly’s computer screen. 

 

 _“Oh,”_ Molly looks at F/N and seems to understand that she needs to focus on something else, “I'm trying to come up with an idea for a boat.” She faces her computer screen head on and frowns at it. 

 

 _“Oh,_ for the Bonfire Night event?” F/N thinks of Mycroft once more. 

 

Molly nods her head. “I'm having trouble though. Everyone else seems to be doing it in a really creative way, but I can’t think of anything. I’ve tried to Google around for ideas, _but”-_

 

“Why don’t you let _me_ help?” F/N’s not sure if she’s strictly allowed to considering that she’s working behind the scenes and will be one of the people who will be helping to finalize the score if there’s a need to do such a thing-Mycroft will be the other-but she knows by now that plenty of parents will be competitive and be doing anything they can to give their child the edge, so she doesn’t really see the difference. In any case she _wants_ to feel as if she’s useful. 

 

“Are you sure?” Molly looks at her sceptically, like she’s wondering why an older student like F/N would want to help _her._

 

“Mmm.” F/N swipes at her eyes. She then tries to joke, “As you can probably see right now I’d like the distraction. _Plus,_ I’d like to help you if I can.” She thinks it might assist in her feeling better about what Mycroft had said too. 

 

Feeling encouraged, not to mention grateful, Molly agrees and they take their discussion over to one of the free tables. F/N manages to coax what Molly likes out of her by sharing a few stories about herself and soon they've drawn out a plan for a boat that will make use of some of the chemistry equipment at the primary school. Sealed test tubes will act as a raft, whilst a Bunsen burner with a Barbie wearing a pink dress, sweatbands and cat hairband inside it, as if she’s steering the boat itself, can be affixed to the back of it. Molly seems really chuffed about it and F/N feels a lot happier too. 

 

“You can try asking your teacher about borrowing the equipment,” F/N tells her, as they’re packing up their things and on the verge of leaving-F/N’s mother should have come home by now and Molly’s father is waiting by the library door for her-“I can put in a good word for you if it comes down to it, but I'm sure that Mrs. Hudson will be fine about it because she’s really nice isn’t she?” She’s found that being on the student council has made even teachers she’s never met before-though she knows Mrs. Hudson-respect her and take her opinion into account a lot more.

 

“Oh yes she is,” Molly agrees with her. 

 

“Then we can meet up again and I’ll help you put it all together.”

 

Molly is pleased and overflowing with gratitude. Brushing it off F/N feels a lot better about the situation, but she’s about to feel a lot _worse._ “By the way,” Molly glances at her more uncertainly and the smile slips off of F/N’s face, as she puts her bag strap over one of her shoulders, “I'm not sure whether this is the right thing to do or not, but since you’re nice, and I really think that I might regret it if I don’t tell anyone”-

 

“Please do,” F/N wills her. She wonders for a moment if Molly’s being bullied and is already coming up with an action plan in her head to help tackle it. Part of her feels proud that Molly is willing to open up to her and she’s made her feel safe enough to do so. 

 

“I heard James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran talking in the corridor after class. They noticed me, but didn't look at me all that much. It was almost as if they didn't _mind_ me knowing, but when James _did_ look at me, it was almost as if he was _daring_ me to tell someone, but didn't think that I would.” F/N’s face darkens. She is reminded of her own argument with Mycroft at Molly’s words. Both of them have been thought not good or strong enough, let alone a threat by the opposite gender and she feels a sort of kinship with Molly. She feels angry too because she knows that Sherlock has been made upset by James and Sebastian in the past. Then she wonders why she’s doing Mycroft’s job for him. She shouldn't be getting defensive and distressed for Sherlock. _He_ should. 

 

“Go on,” she pushes when Molly looks as if she’s about to falter because of the expression that’s on F/N’s face. 

 

“I-I think James is trying to sabotage the Bonfire Night event.” F/N listens carefully. “I heard him trying to get Sebastian to put a lit firework in his camouflaged boat _and”-_ she does not need to go on any further. F/N knows that even though the water would help the firework dissolve if it were to land in it after it went off fireworks are one of the worst things to be messing around with. She remembers Mycroft’s parents expressly forbidding Sherlock to experiment with them on the last Bonfire Night and knows that as well as a lot of the hard work that the students have put in getting ruined, people could be seriously hurt-not just by the firework, but as a result of them stumbling around in the environment, which would be full of smoke too. She feels sick. “Is everything all right?" Molly asks. "I don’t know if Sebastian is going to go along with it or anything, but I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

 

F/N forces a smile on her face. “No one’s going to get hurt Molls. Just leave it with me.” She touches at the other girl’s shoulder, and it sounds stupid but it almost feels as if the weight of the matter is being transferred from Molly’s shoulders to her own when she does so. 

 

Molly looks encouraged by that _and_ by the nickname. She smiles and heads off to meet her father. 

 

*

 

It’s kind of ironic that F/N had told Molly she was waiting for her mum to come home because she doesn’t spend all that much time with her mother that evening. Instead she lies on top of her duvet and stares at the ceiling. Molly’s words go around in her head, as do Mycroft’s. 

 

She could tell someone about what Molly had informed her about, still help Molly and try and win with her and her boat. That might prove something to Mycroft and it also appeals to F/N because she’d felt a similarity between herself and Molly. _Or_ she could not tell anyone about the sabotage that James and Sebastian are allegedly-and more than likely-planning. She could watch Mycroft be disappointed when the event didn't work out. However Molly would be upset too if her work got ruined and wouldn’t it take away some of the confidence that F/N might have just instilled in her if she ended up thinking that F/N hadn’t taken her complaint seriously? _Plus,_ regardless of both Mycroft and Molly she’s put a lot of effort into the event herself and people could _actually_ be hurt. This isn’t like James and Sebastian just want to knock some stalls over in a silly fit of rage. There are fireworks involved. No matter how annoyed she feels towards Mycroft in that moment she knows that she’d never forgive herself fully if people got injured because of her actions [or her lack of them] _especially_ Sherlock. She adores the little boy like he’s her own brother. She sighs. 

 

*

 

“JAWN! JAWN!” a piecing cry makes its way across the playground the following morning when Sherlock, having just arrived at the school, runs across to where John is walking across the middle of the playground, as he waits for him. 

 

“What is it?” the blond looks concerned. He turns to his friend. 

 

“Graham’s trying to stop Myc and F/N from being friends.”

 

John looks puzzled for one moment. “Oh, you mean Greg?” he finally works out. 

 

Sherlock nods eagerly. “And now Mycroft’s too sad to help me properly with my pirate ship!” Here John looks appalled just like Sherlock had hoped that he would. _“So,”_ Sherlock presses the point by stepping on the spot a little, “We have to get F/N and Myc being friends again. You should probably glare at Geoff whenever you see him. Then he might back off, Myc can help me with the ship and _I’ll_ definitely win.” John looks like he might have a problem with that for one moment. “But I’ll share whatever prize I get with you.” John’s face brightens, but he feels a bit confused because he sees F/N striding into their school.

 

“What’s _F/N_ doing here?”

 

Sherlock spins around, but F/N has already disappeared through the doors of the school. “F/N? F/N’s not here. You must have thought you’d seen her Jawn because we've been talking about her just now. You’re so silly Jawn!” Sherlock’s face lights up in delight, but John frowns. He _knows_ that Sherlock’s explanation makes sense, but he’s equally sure that he’d seen F/N just now. Maybe she had something last-minute to discuss about the Bonfire Night event with their Headmaster? 

 

*

 

F/N spends most of her lunchtime meeting of the student council thinking about the situation between Mycroft and her. She hopes that if Mycroft figures out what she’s done this morning his feelings will soon soften towards her, he’ll realize that she’s not any less on his brother’s or his side now that she’s dating Greg and they’ll be able to have a fresh start. He doesn’t know such a thing yet however and is not ready to relinquish his cooler feelings for her. He breaks off from a plan of action to tell her to stop tapping her pen against her notebook even though she’s sure that he _knows_ she’d only been absent-mindedly doing the thing. Then he tells her to stop fidgeting with her bracelet. When she reads out a record of the points for and against vending machines that had been mentioned in the last meeting he just frowns at her. He doesn’t even thank her as he normally would. It’s like he believes that _she’s_ the one who’s trying to take away all his sweets and as if she’s personally betrayed him when they've both been trying to put off working on this specific agenda for as long as possible as they know that it won’t be a popular one. It’s Headmistress Adler who had coerced them into doing it. _Still,_ she tries to tame her temper and keep her patience. It will do no good if she blows up at him or treats him angrily when he _finally_ comes to his senses. 

 

*

 

That afternoon there is a lot of activity in Class 2B. For a start when Mrs. Hudson enters the class she looks very, very serious indeed. John wonders if anyone has gone missing because she looks in a similar state to what his mother had when his sister Harriet had stormed off to town without telling anyone. He starts planning a rescue mission in his head. Sherlock meanwhile thinks that Mrs. Hudson just looks grumpy, and though he tries to work out why, he _can’t,_ because he can’t read people very well emotionally yet. Molly can’t help but fret that she’s in trouble. What if she’d made a mistake in telling F/N about James and Sebastian and will now be in difficulty for it if her words have proved to be untrue? Philip hopes that whatever it is won’t affect the end-of-term treats that Mrs. Hudson sometimes brings in. She gives them to them on special occasions sometimes too and he would _definitely_ count Bonfire Night as being an event worth treating a class for. 

 

“I have something very serious to tell you,” Mrs. Hudson says gravely and John thinks that someone might have _actually_ died because he’d heard someone speaking like that on television before and it had made his mother cry just as much as she had done when his father had passed away, “I’ve got strong reason to believe that at least _one_ person here is trying to spoil the Bonfire Night event.” There are mutterings and gasps of shock at this. Sherlock and John look at one another, before they glare simultaneously at James who puts on his most innocent expression and gives them a bit of a shrug. “I would like the person, or _persons,_ to come forward now.” 

 

“Mrs Hudson?” James’s hand rises leisurely. 

 

“Yes James?” Mrs. Hudson holds her breath a little. Is James just doing what he usually does in trying to deflect attention away from himself? Or is he _actually_ going to do the right thing and confess this time?

 

“I wanted to tell you that, whilst I don’t know who would do such a thing, and I really _wish_ that I did”-the class fills with tension-“So that I could tell you and make you happy”-

 

“Which is a nice thing to want to do James,” she tries to encourage him, even though her insides instinctively curl up at his slippery nature. 

 

“But I have a bad feeling that it might be Sherlock.” There are a few more gasps here at this. Everyone looks Sherlock’s way and then in between James and him. John glares loyally at James for Sherlock’s sake, whilst Sherlock’s eyes narrow and he slumps a little in his chair at the unfairness of it all. Tears squeeze in the corner of his eyes like a towel being twisted free of sea water and as he begins to feel his bottom lip trembling he wishes that Mycroft were there to defend him. Mycroft might be a rubbish big brother at times, but he’s always been good at standing up for him. “I actually heard him say that he wouldn’t be very happy if anyone else came up with a better boat than him because he _likes_ being your favourite”-

 

Mrs. Hudson flushes a little at that and feels a little unnerved by the fact that James has just unearthed her secret. With many years of experience behind her though she recollects herself like a wise and disapproving old owl on its perch and looks coolly at James, but before she can say anything John blurts out, “No he never! That’s stupid! Sherlock would _never_ say anything like that.”

 

 _“John?”_ Mrs. Hudson tries to make the boy a little more self-reflective about his own behaviour. James looks smug. Mrs. Hudson ignores him for a moment and turns her gaze on Sherlock. She hates having to do this to him because she has a better idea of _who_ the culprits are, but for the sake of transparency and fairness in her class and so that they don’t _actually_ think he’s her favourite, she asks him, “Sherlock? Have you got anything that you’d like to tell me?”

 

For a moment the boy, still low in his chair and gripping onto the underside of it with his hands, just shakes his head wildly, as tears spark in his eyes. He gets out in a watery and ragged tone, “I didn't say that Mrs. Hudson, a-and I don’t plan to ruin anything.” His eyes dart to James who mouths, _‘Liar!’_ at him. “I'm not! I'm not!” Sherlock lurches forwards, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, as he does so desperately. 

 

“That’s enough,” Mrs. Hudson says, having noticed James’s nasty behaviour and feeling unwilling to put up with it any more. 

 

“You’ve known me for longer Mrs. Hudson.” James pleads, already so manipulative in his young age and Mrs. Hudson is not about to buy into his act. 

 

“I’d like it if Sebastian and you could come with me please.” 

 

 _“Me?”_ Sebastian exclaims, looking shocked, and his hair flops about a little. “Why me?”

 

“Now please,” Mrs. Hudson is insistent. James follows her command with a smirk upon his face, still looking rather important and trying to cover up the fact that things aren't going his way at all. Sebastian however gets up with much sighing and dragging of his feet. Mrs. Hudson feels a bit sorry for him. Once again he seems to have got caught up in the tangled web of James’s schemes, but this is a boy, she reminds herself, who finds the decapitation of ants interesting, so he is not exactly innocent. 

 

*

 

By the end of the day, and when the children are all pulling on their coats and making their way out of school the rumours are in full flow. James and Sebastian had never returned to class and so everyone thinks that they must have been suspended. Philip thinks that they have been due to the fact that James apparently wanted to put a real ship that he’d bought through stealing his father’s credit card into the river. He thinks that Sebastian hadn’t wanted to go along with it though and James had threatened to do several nasty things to him, like cut off all his toy’s heads if he didn't. Sherlock believes however that James had just let that rumour start and fester to distract from what he’d _really_ been planning and even if he hadn’t then it’s ludicrous because you couldn't fit a real ship into the river. _Everyone_ knows that, bar Philip of course, and apparently Sally, who calls Sherlock a very rude word when he says all of this, but Sherlock had seen her kissing Philip on the cheek last week anyway so she doesn’t surprise him.

 

“I’ll ask my brother,” Sherlock says wisely to John, as they finish getting out of school, because if _anyone_ knows what’s going on then it will be Mycroft. 

 

They race up to the older boy who is meeting them on his own and nearly give him a heart attack, as they slip and slide across all the leaves towards him. 

 

“Do you know what’s happened Myc?” Sherlock asks him, whilst John looks on keenly. 

 

“With regards to what now?” Mycroft’s brow furrows. Sherlock and John exchange a glance. To them Mycroft has always seemed to know everything and been very perceptive as to what they've been asking him. It comes as a shock to them that he might not be the all-knowing being, as they’d previously taken him to be.

 

“James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran got taken out of class,” John babbles, recovering more quickly than Sherlock does for once, “They might have been planning something bad for the Bonfire Night event. They tried to blame it on Sherlock”- 

 

“Then they never came back,” Sherlock adds hurriedly, not wanting his sad feelings from earlier to return, “We think that they might have gotten sus-sus”- Sherlock hisses without much effect. 

 

 _“Suspended?”_ Mycroft suggests now and the boys look happier. The lines on Mycroft’s face deepen however, but before he has a chance to interrogate any further Sherlock looks around and then back at him. 

 

“Where’s Gavin?” he asks. 

 

Mycroft’s curiosity sours into a bad mood. “How should _I_ know?” Sherlock and John exchange a glance. 

 

“We were going to glare at him,” Sherlock says, “We've been practicing all day. _Look.”_ At that point he and John simultaneously scrunch up their faces. They look more constipated than anything else, but Mycroft feels a bit lighter from their efforts all the same.

 

“Why were you going to do that Sher?” he tousles his brother’s hair with his fingers, before he suddenly hopes that Gregory hasn’t been nasty to Sherlock without him knowing. He doesn’t _really_ need to have much of an excuse to have a go at the boy right then, but he’d always rather avoid conflict if he can. It’s so troublesome. It always gives him a headache. 

 

“It’s because of what happened yesterday. He obviously doesn’t want F/N and you to be friends any more and I think that’s sad. There’s no time-limit on friendship and you’ll be lonely, like I was after Redbeard if he succeeds”-John looks more solemn at this show of emotion from his friend-“I was trying to be a good brother just like you’re always telling me to be. _See?”_ Sherlock carefully moves his brother’s hand away from him and tries his best innocent smile out on Mycroft.

 

The sweetness of it all almost dazzles Mycroft, but then, and going with his gut feeling of thinking that all’s not right here, he figures it out. “Are you sure that you don’t just _think_ that it’s sad because you believe that I won’t be helping you with your pirate ship, whilst all this is going on?” John grins a little. He can’t help it. Sherlock suddenly looks defensive. “I'm still going to help you Sher,” Mycroft tells him, and his hand splays itself in his brother’s hair. Sherlock immediately pulls a face, before he genuinely starts to look happier, as the weight of Mycroft’s words sink in. Mycroft has his own agenda here though-if nothing else then he thinks that helping Sherlock with the boat and spending time together might be a good way that he can get knowledge out of him about the peculiar case of James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. 

 

“You _are?”_ Sherlock says to him hopefully, not seeing through his brother at all.

 

“Yes, of course I am.” Mycroft genuinely feels a little bit sad that Sherlock had thought that he wouldn’t. He tries to convince himself that whether or not this intrigue with Moriarty and Moran had occurred and no matter what had gone on between F/N and himself he would have done the right thing in the end. 

 

Sherlock, unconstrained by such worries, beams.

 

*

 

F/N feels glad when she hears from Molly that James and Sebastian have been more than likely suspended. Whether they’d have actually gone through with their plans or not she is hopeful that however temporary their presence has been removed from the classroom for it might allow some of the other personalities to grow and she hopes that Mycroft might be able to figure out what she’s done too. Then surely they will be able to be friends again. She can’t see why they won’t be able to. 

 

*

 

“It’s boring without F/N around,” Sherlock comments later on when Mycroft and he are at the kitchen table working on Sherlock’s pirate ship. The parts of the pirate ship have been carefully painted and now that it’s a bit later on and they've had a chance to dry they can be stuck together. Sherlock has one foot up on his chair, as he monitors Mycroft’s progress. For all his bravado earlier now that his excitement about Mycroft still helping him with his pirate ship has faded he’s realized that Mycroft is still sad and that’s affecting his own happiness too. 

 

“Why don’t you go and phone John then if you’re so in need of something to do? I'm doing all the work here anyway,” Mycroft is a little irritated by how much his brother is missing F/N when he should be more than enough for him. 

 

Sherlock looks a trifle upset and frustrated. He straightens his leg, slides down off his chair and pads across to the little nook in the wall-a hollow of sorts-where the phone is kept, though Sherlock has often managed to curl up there like a cat when he’s been in a mood. With a particular focus on Mycroft’s back-he only averts his eyes for a moment so that he can dial the number he has memorized-he brings the phone to his ear. John seems to take an age to answer it, but _finally-_

 

_“Hello?”_

 

“It’s me Jawn,” Sherlock says a bit morosely, putting one sock clad foot on top of the other. At the table Mycroft’s shoulders grow tense. 

 

“Sherlock is that _you?”_ John says in a voice that’s full of wonder. 

 

“I just said that it was,” Sherlock retorts grumpily even though he’d said no such thing. 

 

“I was just about to phone you!”

 

“You _were?”_ Sherlock’s ears perk up. 

 

“Uh huh, didn't you wonder why I answered it when my mum does so usually?” John asks him.

 

“Not really,” Sherlock feels a bit embarrassed now, not to mention upset that John’s cleverer than him. He’s really glad that Mycroft doesn’t have access to both ends of the conversation or he’d probably call him, ‘stupid’ again. “I just wanted you and hoped that you’d be there for me.” 

 

“Aw, I was thinking about what happened today in school,” John moves the conversation on quickly.

 

“You _were?”_ Sherlock says, though he’s not actually thinking about what he’s saying. He’s picturing the expression that would have been on John’s face, as he’d had such thought. It would have been all scrunched up and his eyes would have been like slits. John looks like he has the world’s worst headache when he’s thinking. 

 

“I was trying to remember if there had been anything different, _more_ different to begin with than what had happened with James and Sebastian _because,”_ John gets in when he predicts what Sherlock’s about to say, “Because you told me that solving cases is a bit like maths or a really good story. It has to have a sequence.” Sherlock feels really pleased with himself and wishes that Mycroft could hear _this_ part of their conversation. As if his brother detects this change in mood he looks over his shoulder at him curiously. “Then I remembered what I saw”-Sherlock isn’t quite getting it- _“Sherlock,”_ John says, as if he can hardly wait for him to realize, “I saw F/N at school today!”

 

Sparks like fireworks fill up Sherlock’s head for a moment and his hand practically trembles as he lowers the phone. _“Myc?”_ Sherlock can hear John calling his name and though he doesn’t much like to ignore him he does so for this- his latest case.

 

“Mm. How many times have I told you _not_ to call me that? You know how much I can’t stand such a thing.” Mycroft looks frustrated with him.

 

“This is _important!”_ Sherlock is both breathless and insistent now. Mycroft lowers the pirate ship and turns sideways on his chair, so that he can see him more clearly. “Was F/N late for school today?”

 

Mycroft is about to be flippant for a moment, but then he sees Sherlock’s face and senses the urgency of the question. “Yes, she was.” He blinks and re-affixes his gaze on Sherlock. “She came into registration just after the bell. It wasn’t anything spectacular for most people, but for _her_ it might as well have been ten minutes or so.” Mycroft remembers wondering about it at the time and feeling even more aggravated towards her because she’d made him worry. _That’s_ why he’d felt so annoyed with her in the student council meeting and hadn’t even been able to fake politeness. She is making him _feel_ so much. He’d felt like he was going through a difficult time when they’d still been living at their old home with Eurus, but ever since the event with Vincent and then the fire had unrolled he’s been feeling so much and it hasn’t evened out. Instead it has just intensified and grown and he wishes it could all just stop. He can’t even take pleasure in his friendship with F/N any more because now she’s the cause of such torn emotions inside him. _“Why?”_ he asks his brother. “Why did you ask me that?” His brother doesn’t answer him, but the way that his hand jerks on the phone gives him away and Mycroft stands up. He has concluded that whatever the reason for Sherlock’s question John must have prompted it. He marches across there, ignores his brother’s whimper as he pulls the phone from him roughly and puts it to his ear.

 

 _“Sher”-_ John is midway through saying his brother’s name again and such show of friendship reminds Mycroft of the one that he used to have with F/N. He feels a pang of pain, but quickly dismisses it. He has to remain focused. 

 

 _“John?”_ he says gruffly. “It’s Mycroft, Sherlock’s brother?” he says, as if they have not walked home together a million times before. 

 

“Oh yeah, um hi,” John is a little unsure. It’s not often that they've spoken one on one together. Even when John comes around and Sherlock is in the toilet or something Mummy is normally there. 

 

“My brother’s been asking me about F/N?” John explains his theory about what had happened and Mycroft thinks on it for a moment. He knows it is very likely indeed to be true. “Good, well, I’ll put Sherlock back on now. Thank you for all your help.” He ignores how dumbfounded John must be on the other end because Mycroft has never thanked him for anything and even if he’d done so in a distracted fashion this time it is a turn up for the books all the same. He passes the phone back to his brother. 

 

*

 

That night though, when he is in bed and lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and he can hear Father’s soft snores, Mummy rolling over onto her side away from the noise and Sherlock snuffling, Mycroft can’t help but feel a lot happier than he has done. F/N has obviously not taken against him enough to let the event be sabotaged, not even possibly, _and,_ feeling proud of her and like he may have been a little harsh on her before, he thinks that maybe there’s still a chance that they can be friends and that he hasn’t spoilt everything.

 

* 

 

The next day, whilst they’re waiting to be admitted into the registration classroom at the bottom of one of the main corridors, Mycroft goes to where F/N is waiting and touches her on the arm quickly. He ignores how a couple of people appear annoyed by him and refrains from telling them that he is hardly skipping the queue when he had been further ahead in it in the first place. Instead he just looks at the shock that takes over her face like a ripple in a lake, which is followed by something defensive and a little cool. 

 

 _“Yes?”_ she murmurs, hoping that he’s come to his senses, but until she knows that he has done such a thing and that she’s not going to be unfairly picked on she’s going to tread cautiously. 

 

Mycroft is equally glad that she has not blown up at him. “How did you find out that James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran were planning to sabotage the Bonfire Night event?” he asks, getting straight to the point. 

 

F/N feels pleased that he’s managed to figure it out, as she’d hoped that he would. She’d considered deliberately seeking out Sherlock and dropping a hint or two to him soon if he hadn’t. “Molly Hooper told me.” 

 

 _“Molly-?”_ Mycroft’s brow furrows and he looks puzzled for a moment. He flips through people in his mind, as if he’s playing, _‘Guess who?’_ He discards the irrelevant ones, before he lands on the one that might be correct. “She’s a girl in the same class as my brother?” F/N nods at him patiently. “I was not aware that you had an especially close relationship with her? As far as I can recall you’ve never even mentioned her before?”

 

“I’ve been helping her with her boat”- F/N says, realizing for the first time how it might look suddenly and she breaks off. Why hadn’t she thought of such a thing? Why had she let logic simply abandon her because of how she feels for Mycroft? 

 

The momentary surprise that had crossed Mycroft’s face gives way to something that’s more like rage. “Oh, I see. There was me thinking that perhaps you had managed to find out the information quite innocently enough. That it had maybe even been public-spirited of you to inform their Headmaster of what you’d found. I thought it was nice that you still valued the event and all the work we’d put into it despite what was going on between us, but _no._ You came across the information when you aligned yourself with Molly Hooper in an attempt to get one over my brother and I and win the boat race yourself. You wanted to prove to me no doubt that girls _can_ make boats. Did it ever occur to you in your state of petty anger what it would do to my brother? He’ll be devastated by your callous treatment of him. To treat me like that is one thing, but _him”-_

 

“What about your callous treatment of _me?_ Sherlock didn't seem to be very pleased with you for _that._ In any case it’s nothing to _do_ with winning,” F/N says, aghast and angry that he could even think such a thing, especially that anything she could do would upset Sherlock. She doesn’t particularly care too much about the flush on her cheeks or the way that people are beginning to look at them and laugh. “I'm trying to help a vulnerable student and make that one part of her life a bit happier and more confident! Help her in the way that I’ve always _tried_ to help your brother! You should have been _glad_ that I’ve been doing your job for you! Or would you rather that Sherlock gets hurt on Bonfire Night? That _anyone_ does? Because _that’s_ what I’ve been trying to avoid here Mycroft!” Mycroft looks a little taken aback. “Yet I'm sure that you’d rather keep your conspiracy theory going wouldn’t you? That’s how you can feel better than me. _And,_ whilst we’re here”-she gestures-“Whilst I'm saying all this, for the record, if you’d asked me to the ball, then I would have said yes- _without_ hesitation!” 

 

It must be fate that Greg, who is always running behind and almost just on time for everything, shows up now. F/N stares at him in slight horror, whilst Mycroft gawps at her in turn. Nothing that she’s just said makes any sense. She’s been going out with Gregory hasn't she? The teacher’s bustling form emerges from behind Greg and he steps aside. 

 

“Tell her that we’re here,” F/N indicates Greg and herself to Mycroft. 

 

 _“But”-_ he wants to know what she’d meant. 

 

“Just do it,” she hisses and Mycroft has to watch as she pulls Gregory further up the corridor. 

 

*

 

 _“Greg,”_ F/N turns to him when they’re by a door of an unused classroom. “I didn't mean”-

 

“It’s fine, but please don’t insult my intelligence by lying to me.” She nods and notices that he’s wearing his sport jacket over his tousled uniform. He’s had detention for doing such a thing before, but he doesn’t seem to care in that moment. His hair is stuck up every which way and his eyes are resigned. “You’ve got your school council thing. I get it. We've known each other for longer in a sense, _but”-_

 

“It’s just”-she almost acts like he hasn’t spoken or perhaps she just feels obliged to try and explain herself some more-“So much has”- she blinks suddenly when she feels his warm and worn hands upon her shoulders in the cold corridor. They seem to be moulding her skin. 

 

“I told you it’s fine. I should have spoken to you first hey? Not waited around for your feelings to develop for someone else.” His eyes are more sympathetic now and they seem to be telling her that she couldn't have helped this. She doesn’t feel like she deserves such empathy though. He removes his hands from her and tugs at the hairs on the nape of his neck. “I'm just glad that you said yes to me when you did. Can we still be friends?” She nods at him. “When are you going to ask him out? Or was _that-?”_

 

“I'm not sure if he deserves _any_ of my time right now.” F/N looks down, still undecided. Does she want to act on her feelings or does she just want to hope that, because of more recent circumstances and the way that Mycroft has been behaving towards her, they’ll go away? 

 

Her conflicted state must show upon her face for Greg says, “I’ll talk to him,” and lays an encouraging hand upon her shoulder. She looks up at him. “Whip him into shape.” She smiles at him tentatively. Does he know, can he sense, that she doesn’t really want to push the feelings she’s got for Mycroft aside? She just wants him to grow up a little and stop feeling like everyone’s out to get him. 

 

*

 

That lunchtime though, at the student council meeting, which was called straight on the bell when usually they’d have time to get their lunch first-Mycroft has done such a thing, so that he might build himself up to talking to F/N-he doesn’t show any sign of being anywhere _near_ ready to breach the subject despite what has happened or give her any confidence to do so in turn. He is awkward and fumbling. He drops some of his notes and mislays others, making the few people who have turned up groan and grumble in despair and F/N nearly bury her head in her hands. He keeps looking at her in front of everyone else too, which makes her blush. When he tells her to stay behind at the end, and everyone else snickers, she cannot cope with the idea and tells him that she’ll see him later on instead, before she hurries away with the others. She _knows_ that’s not a very grown-up thing to do, but she can’t help it. She doubts that things will get better between them when they’re both as they are. Mycroft’s face turns crestfallen. He knows he’s handling things so very wrong, but he doesn’t know what he should do instead. 

 

*

 

“You know that you honestly don’t have to,” F/N tears open a salt packet when she’s finally gotten to lunch in the canteen that day and she pours the substance generously over her chips, gravy and mushy peas. Greg is sat opposite her and tucking into a hot dog. Both of their legs are arranged comfortably around each other’s underneath the table. “But if you were serious in your offer earlier to talk t-to Mycroft”-her cheeks pinken a little-“Then any time soon would be great and much appreciated.” She doesn’t look at him. 

 

“That bad huh?” Greg eyes her in commiseration. 

 

 _“Yeah,”_ she emphasizes, looking up at him, and she is just about to launch into it when a cold shadow falls across their table and in the next moment Mycroft is sitting down next to her and bringing his own tray of meat, mash and a slice of cake for dessert with him. The cake is covered in chocolate flakes and has a cherry on its top. F/N eyes it a little longingly, imagining how it might all fall apart pleasantly inside her mouth. 

 

“I thought that it was just as well that someone was with you. Wouldn't want things to be a bit tense and awkward after this morning,” the eldest Holmes tries to excuse his presence there. 

 

Greg half-nods at him in acknowledgement, before he looks at F/N concernedly. 

 

“You just don’t have a clue do you?” F/N tells Mycroft angrily because he doesn't seem to be getting the fact that she's got more of a problem with him right now than she has with Greg and she wishes that he'd just try and halt all of his protective instincts if he's going to keep inadvertently hurting her like this. Hardly bearing to look at his confused face because it makes her want to scream, she says, “Excuse me Greg. I’ve got some work that I need to be doing.” He nods at her seriously and she abandons her lunch and flees from the cafeteria. Her chips lay in her gravy like a wooden pier that has been chopped into pieces by a storm. Mycroft looks at them forlornly, as if he is marking this moment in his mind. 

 

“I'm with her mate,” Greg says, which breaks Mycroft’s eye contact with F/N’s plate and makes him look at Greg instead with narrowed and suspicious eyes. He opens his mouth, but Greg goes on, “All this time you’ve just been thinking about her last few words, and of course I understand that,” Greg rakes a hand through his hair, “Because as we all know _I_ would have liked to have gone out with F/N myself. _Properly.”_ Greg picks the cherry from the top of Mycroft’s cake and sucks on it. 

 

 _“Gregory!”_ Mycroft is appalled. “The cherry is my favourite part,” he confesses when Greg looks at him questioningly. 

 

“You mean that it _will_ be,” Greg can’t help himself and neither can he stop himself from adding a deft wink. Mycroft flushes, particularly around his neck and ears. 

 

“Am I to take it that you’re not together any more then?” Mycroft tries to be casual, but completely fails to be. 

 

 _“No,”_ Greg smiles a little knowingly at him, and something flutters in Mycroft’s stomach at such news. Daydreams start up in his head again, as if they've got new motivation, but he quickly recovers himself when he realizes that Greg is staring at him. “You know it was actually _F/N_ who said what she did, who was the cause _of”-_ he nods a little awkwardly at Greg. 

 

“I _know,”_ Greg’s voice rings out a little more loudly now and he instantly looks regretful, “That F/N was the one who decided to call us quits first, that she said a whole load of stuff to you before I even got there, _and,_ if what I’ve been hearing all morning is true she handed your balls to you on a plate”-

 

 _“Gregory…”_ Mycroft is embarrassed now and looks around awkwardly even though absolutely no one is looking their way. A girl passes them carrying her tray. She has the same hair colour as F/N, but is probably a world away in sharing her personality and everything else that Mycroft treasures about her. He sighs, knowing regrettably that there’s only one person he wants to be with if he's going to go through this typical teenage dating lark. He knows that F/N wouldn't probably see what he's just thought as a romantic viewpoint either. 

 

“I'm glad that unlike your brother you get my name right,” Greg takes an unsympathetic tone, “But if we’re going to be proper friends from now on, and not just people who talk to one another because we both know F/N, then you should know that I _prefer_ Greg.” 

 

“Greg it is then,” Mycroft sighs a little, “What do you suggest that I do? And _why,_ when as you have made quite clear you harbour feelings for her yourself, would you want to help me with F/N?”

 

“If I can’t have her then I’d rather she was with you, someone who, for the most part”-Mycroft looks slightly ashamed now as he senses what is coming-“Respects her and knows her more than anyone else does, but you’re going to need my help if you’re going to get anywhere with her at this rate.” He tugs at strands of his hair. “You need to make it up to her in any way that you can because she needs to know that you’re sorry for what you’ve accused her of. I mean a boat race Mycroft, _really?”_ Mycroft cringes and feels terrible in that moment. “Do you honestly think that F/N cares about getting one over on you so much that she’d add winning a boat race via Molly on her to-do list when she's got enough to do already I'd wager? It’s typical for her to want to help a student. You of all people should know that. Or have you not noticed such a thing during all the times that you’ve worked together?” Greg’s a little bitter. 

 

“But maybe she thinks it would not only have the added benefit of upsetting my brother and I, but that it would impress her parents if Molly won with her help?” Mycroft’s eyebrows rise at Greg a little challengingly, before he picks up his fork and nudges unenthusiastically at a piece of mashed potato. He can’t quite believe in his words himself, but he still wants a little moment of denial if he can, before he’ll have to face the fact that he’ll _have_ to talk to F/N, and not just about some things, but about the things that make him feel the most awkward too. Stepping around the fringes won’t be enough to fix their friendship, let alone pave the way for anything more, he realizes that now. 

 

Greg’s own eyebrow rises at him, as if to tell him not to be so stupid. “I don’t know much about F/N’s father, from what I hear he sounds like he’s too busy gallivanting around Africa to pay much attention to her, but I don’t think her mother sounds like she’d have the time to be impressed by a boat race Mycroft. She sounds far too busy for that.”

 

“She mentioned her _father_ to you?” Mycroft knows that it’s rare that F/N talks about him and feels a little pang of jealousy that she’d felt more quickly comfortable with Greg than she had with him. 

 

“Every time she’s spoken to you about him probably helped her to do so quicker with me,” Greg reads him now and Mycroft feels surprised by the level of his perception. “She told me mainly that she misses him. I asked her about the bracelet that she always wears and what that’s about y’know?” Mycroft nods. “I knew that she liked it, but I didn't know that it meant so much to her. I was thinking about getting her a present of some sort and wanted to know more about her tastes.” Calmer now Mycroft tucks into his food some more and thinks that maybe he should try and get F/N a present too. Maybe she'd like that. “I think she misses you as well.” Mycroft freezes up a little here and nearly chokes. His head hangs over his plate and he waits, before he takes another mouthful. “She’s hurting right now, but she wants her best friend back. I know she does. Once you clear things up between you then I'm sure that she’ll be more willing to go on a date with you,” he says all this very much in spite of himself and tries to do what might be best for F/N. 

 

“She said all those things?” Mycroft looks up sceptically and thinks that Greg’s being a bit foolish. 

 

“Not in so many words,” Greg teases him, “But _why”-_ he taps at Mycroft’s forehead now and the other boy cringes a little away from him-“Would she have said what you’ve been mulling over all morning if she didn't? It was such a big thing to say, especially when she was angry. We both heard it and I think it sounded like more than frustration to me.” 

 

A slow smile spreads over Mycroft’s face now and Greg grins, knowing that he’s finally gotten through to the other boy. 

 

*

 

F/N’s helping Molly with her boat in the chemistry lab later on that day when she senses a presence there. 

 

Looking up from the workbench that they’re sat around, and where they've been carefully checking the boat that they’d already stuck together before and making sure that it’s still as sturdy as when they’d last left it-they’d been a little scared about anyone touching it and so had tried to hide it in as safe a place as possible inside the room-she lowers the boat and stands up defensively when she sees that Mycroft’s standing by the door and watching them, despite this being the primary school campus. She knows that he tends to avoid the place unless he’s picking up Sherlock. _That,_ he’s made out, is quite enough of an exertion for him, and he’s always sent her over there if anything needed doing. Molly is a bit apprehensive to see him there too because he is a stranger to her and she is not aware that this is Sherlock's brother, but F/N is angry, feeling that he’s caught her unaware and in quite a vulnerable position when she would have thought that she’d been safe from seeing him again that day. 

 

“Excuse me,” she murmurs to Molly, _and,_ not wanting him to come any closer she walks up to him instead. “What are _you_ doing here?” 

 

“I had a couple of checks to do about the Bonfire Night event. You er-you locked me out of our shared spreadsheet for the expenditures, so I had to come and find you.” He looks a little embarrassed. “I wanted to see if we had any left over money _for”-_

 

“You weren’t checking up on me then? Or perhaps trying to sneak a peek at the competition? Not I'm sure, that you see us that way. Maybe you just wanted a laugh?” F/N gets in, looking at him a little challengingly now. Whilst she believes that she could have easily locked him out of the spreadsheet with how erratic her emotions have been of late and how she hasn’t been feeling up to her usual level of concentration she’s not sure that she fully believes that he’d only sought her out for that purpose. 

 

Mycroft blinks a little. “Not a very fair blow is it? For you to be accusing me of what I blamed you for before when you tried to be the bigger person about it?” She cools down. Her shoulders visibly relax. “I am sorry for what I told you. It was wrong of me to think that gender matters in any circumstance, let alone _this_ one. I am sure the pair of you are more than capable of building a boat.” He looks rather awkwardly past F/N at Molly and smiles at her. She looks a little baffled by him. 

 

F/N folds her arms. “Greg did a good job on you then? You’re almost sounding human.” 

 

“I doubt I’ll ever sound like such a thing, _but…”_ he half-looks at her. _‘I might be willing to try for you.’_ He cannot bring himself to say the words though and looks at the floor. He feels like a hopeless disappointment. 

 

“You’re probably right. It’ll be a hard push for _you_ to ever sound human.”

 

“I know-I know I should have said it on my own, but does it matter how its come out?” He looks up at her and she appears to be trying to keep up an appearance of cool nonchalance, whilst she listens to him. “Surely what matters is that it has done and I mean it. Can’t we be friends? Or at the very least be more civil to one another? We still have to work together tomorrow after all and it will be very tiring if we’re like this all the time.” 

 

F/N huffs out a breath. “I know it will be.” She runs a hand through her hair, tousling it, and Mycroft fights the urge to grasp it in his hands and settle it more tidily on either side of her face. F/N looks back at Molly and then at him once more. “We’re going to be testing the boat out in a moment. Make sure that it doesn’t need any last minute adjustments. I would have hoped that we would have done it before now, _but”-_

 

“Ah, yes,” Mycroft looks happier about the turn the conversation has taken because he can contribute to it and gets in quickly, before she might bring up the stress of their argument again. “I better get going myself because Sherlock and John are waiting for me and are itching to do the same with theirs.” 

 

“In that case then,” F/N begins with a tentative bravery, “Perhaps we could meet at six in the park tomorrow night? Before the event starts? Have a-well, _more_ of a”-

 

“Yes, that sounds reasonable,” Mycroft saves her from stumbling about. 

 

The two of them look at one another for a long moment, almost as if they are quite unable to believe that things between them have calmed down so much and are more normal between them. 

 

“I-I’ll see you then, or then, then,” he attempts to be funny now and she grins a little without being able to help it at his sense of humour. 

 

“Yeah.” She brushes her hair back and he nearly hits his shoulder on the side of the door, as he tries to keep an eye on her and take in the fact that things might actually be on their way to being more ordinary between them on his way out. She flushes a little. 

 

In the background Molly suppresses a smile. As F/N re-joins him she says, “He’s the boy isn’t he?” without even looking at her, but she knows that she’s right.

 

 _“Huh?”_ F/N is still a little dazed from it all. 

 

“The one that you weren’t sure whether you were still going to be friends with?” 

 

“Oh, oh yeah,” she tells her. It feels like a long time since she was climbing the slope of rage now that she seems to be more on the other side of it. 

 

“You’re different around him. Not nervous exactly, I'd even say that you might be more confident. There's more energy inside you.” Molly glances at her a little shyly.

 

F/N takes that in for a moment. _Then,_ and going back to checking the boat, though more absentmindedly, she feels the need to say, "You know, b-before Mycroft and his brother came to live here and before they started going to the schools that they do, student council was a bit, _well,_ don’t tell anyone I told you all this”-Molly’s eyes are genuine and curious as they look back at her-“But it was rubbish.” Molly squeaks more than laughs. “There was no organization there. No one had a clue what they were doing. Everyone talked about everything else aside from what we needed to get done. Everyone seemed to be there for their own gain or because they’d been told to be.” She fiddles with her bracelet. “Some of the things that needed to be done were done twice because no one had a clue about who was responsible for what. I was really…I mean I _wanted_ to be there, I did, but I guess I wasn’t sure if I had the heart to put up with all the other stuff too. You see I was more like you back then.”

 

_“Really?”_

 

“Yeah,” F/N flashes her a smile. “I couldn't make my voice count or be heard,” Molly looks a little crestfallen, “And believe me it’s a slow process and I can't always be the way I am with Mycroft, as you know I can't, but it’s a bit better now and well, I think you could be part of the student council if you wanted to be one day Molly, and don’t tell Mycroft that I told you this, but I think that you could even _run_ it. You just need more confidence sometimes and maybe you don't even need someone to give it to you like I do." She smiles wryly. "Look at everything you’ve done here,” she holds the boat aloft, “I know its been a bit of a joint effort, but you came up with most of the idea all the same once we landed upon it. You were the one who asked Mrs. Hudson for permission to use these materials and I barely had to stick any of it together at all. I’ve basically just been here in case you needed me and there’s no reason why you couldn't run student council one day if you’ve been able to do all of those things now.”

 

“You mean it?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” F/N tells her earnestly. 

 

“Thank you F/N! I'm going to work really hard to make that happen!” Molly beams and hugs her, looking thrilled to be told what she has. 

 

*

 

The day of the Bonfire Night event is the perfect autumn day-cool, crisp and with a hint of promise in the air. Leaves crunch underfoot. Trees shed more of their load. Students chatter and gossip. Everyone is a little bit louder and are looking forward to the night ahead. 

 

*

 

When the time finally comes-after a wonderful lunchtime student council meeting that had, had an expectant energy in the air from everyone and been full of shy and hopeful smiles between F/N and Mycroft-Mycroft tries to stop himself from hurrying too much to the park. He’s dropped Sherlock off early though. Sherlock had told him off for tugging unnecessarily at his hand. _[‘I'm seven Mycroft, I_ know _how to cross the road.’]_ Sherlock had later proved himself right about that fact and had actually _pulled_ Mycroft back from crossing in front of a car-Mycroft is sure that he’ll never hear the end of that one and that Mummy will tell him off for being so distracted. In any case he’s now dispatched himself of his brother and is on his way to the park. His heart is thudding unevenly and he’s trying to calm himself down because he wants to be sensible and most of all he wants it to go well and not to be awkward or flustered again. He also does not want to say or do anything else that might upset F/N. Not only because it will make the evening, where they are expected to work together, far more unpleasant for the pair of them, as he’s previously stated it would to her, but because he’s genuinely missed having her around and likes the idea of taking their relationship further. 

 

*

 

F/N, as she comes from the opposite direction to Mycroft, is equally trying to be level-headed about it all. She’s happy that he’d apologized to her yesterday, but he’d only done so that quickly because of Greg’s prompting she knows and that doesn’t mean that their friendship is an unconditional one and if he should do or say anything else-

 

 _“Oof!”_ She collides with something who turns out to be Mycroft. He grasps at her arm to help steady her and then goes on to push her gently away from him. “Hey…er, sorry about that.” She adjusts her hair quickly and shifts the thin purple folder that she’s carrying in her arms from one position to the other. It’s like a crisis management pack and also a way for her to keep a record of things as the night progresses.

 

“It’s fine. Are _you_ all right though?” He assesses her carefully and gets close to touching at her arm yet again. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I am thanks.” Her cheeks pinken, as she senses what he’d been about to do. She looks down over her folder, takes a bit of a breath and then looks at him again. “So um, thanks for coming and everything. I mean”-she waves one hand and is careful not to dislodge her folder-“I know you had to come, but for meeting me early, like this.”

 

“It’s fine,” he smiles, feeling happy that he’s clearly done the right thing so far. 

 

“So I-I need, and I guess I should say that I kind of regret saying that I would go out with Greg now. Not because he isn’t lovely or anything,” she adds as Mycroft’s eyes begin to narrow protectively, “He is, but I regret making that choice now because of what it did to _us.”_

 

Mycroft looks rueful and apologetic. _“I”-_

 

“I _know_ you apologized.” She holds up a hand to him. “But before we go forwards you need to hear this. Despite the fact that we haven’t actually known each other all that long, you’ve actually been the b-best friend that I’ve ever had, and it was hard not being on good terms with you, so you need to calm down because I _am_ on your side, and though it might not always look like it, I will _always_ try to be. On yours and Sherlock’s. But you need to understand that I am not out to get you. That you can trust me. We can’t move forwards if you don’t at least understand that.” 

 

“I know, and I do. I know it doesn’t always _appear_ that way, but…I'm still learning, I'm still trying and maybe someday I will be human enough for you?”

 

“I think you’re doing pretty well,” she affirms, “Why else would you be here otherwise?” Mycroft feels his heart leap and she looks about them a bit more happily. People are making last-minute adjustments and getting everything ready. “I _need”-_ she looks back at him-“To go and help Mrs. Hudson, but maybe I’ll see you later?”

 

“I should think it more than likely,” Mycroft can’t help but tease her gently and she grins once more, feeling glad that he feels confident enough to do so. She goes off, but misses the bounce in his step, as he does the same. 

 

*

 

Mrs. Hudson feels a mixture of nerves and excitement as she waits for her charges to gather around her. It’s just before half-past six and now the issue of James and Sebastian has been resolved-she does feel disappointed, but not surprised that the latter hadn’t been able to stand up to the former-she feels as if she can really enjoy and get on with the evening. 

 

All the children are holding the boats that they've made and are taking turns to discuss and prod at each other’s creations. Some of this is causing a few squabbles here and there as no one wants their hard work to get destroyed, but overall its been quite pleasant so far. She feels proud about all the work they've put into the boats. Although she’s not entirely sure about how _stable_ some of them are going to be…

 

“All right everyone. Gather in pairs and form an orderly queue please. It’s almost time for us to be off.”

 

The children have nearly done just as she’d instructed them to when they get distracted by F/N, who has come to help them move down to the park safely. They all go out of their pairs and gather around her. Mrs. Hudson thinks that she should have _known_ not to try and organize them, before the girl came, but finds herself smiling all the same. They’re all trying to get her attention and show off to her what they've made. F/N would make a good teacher Mrs. Hudson thinks. She’s got that sort of attitude that seems to make people want to do well for her. She’s seen it in the past when they've worked together and right now she is trying to listen and respond to everything that’s being said and include the quieter ones like Molly too. She’s getting just as much out from it as she’s putting in.

 

“Did you speak to my brother?” Sherlock asks her insistently. “He couldn't wait to get to the park. We nearly got hit by a car because he was so keen.” John snickers, but F/N meanwhile is horrified. 

 

“Yes I did,” F/N reveals and Sherlock looks instantly happier, which makes John look pleased too, “But he didn't tell _me_ what you nearly went through.” She thinks that she’ll certainly be mentioning such a thing to Mycroft later if they manage to have another quiet word with one another. She is certainly _not_ worth getting hit by a car for. 

 

Finally, and with everyone in order again, they set off. Mrs. Hudson leads from the front and F/N talks to Molly at the back, looking at the boat that they’d made admiringly. Sherlock and John are chatting excitedly in front of them. F/N has to keep an eye on everyone though and keep shuffling the crocodile of children along, something that is very hard to do when they have to cross the road. She can almost emphasize with what Mycroft had gone through earlier because keeping an eye on the others, whilst her mind is still very much focused on him, is not an easy task and she decides, whilst she blushes considerably, that it might not be worth mentioning the incident with the car that Sherlock had told her about after all… 

 

*

 

When they reach the park the excitement goes up another level. There are gasps and points as everyone looks about.  
Made up of two parts, which the river separates and joined by a bridge, a lot of wood has been piled up in the furthest part for the bonfire that will be conducted later on. Fireworks will be set off above it and a cordon has been put up to separate the most dangerous part of it off. In the closest part to them however there are stalls, which are selling bric-a-brac to raise money for the schools and food and drink stands, which are selling hot chocolate, toffee apples and hot dogs. The air smells of something spicy and the children all look around them greedily. 

 

 _“Now,_ you’ll have some time to be re-united with your families later and purchase whatever you want”-

 

“That means, _‘buy,’”-_ Sherlock translates. 

 

Mrs. Hudson would ruffle his hair if she could reach him. “Quite right Sherlock, but first we have to make our way down to the boat race.”

 

The children are buzzing at the very notion and when F/N sees that Molly looks excited, but nervous she puts a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. Molly smiles at her gratefully. 

 

“You’re going to do great,” F/N tells her, “Your boat’s gorgeous.” Molly’s beam gets all the wider. It is now she who is able to project all the energy of a lighthouse. 

 

F/N’s heart thuds however as they get closer to the edge of the park. A lot of the parents-some of whom are overly supportive and more competitive than anything else-are already gathered there. It is the sight of Mycroft watching their approach however, with a clipboard in hand, that _truly_ gets her heart racing. Their eyes lock and she feels like she might explode like a firework herself and disappear into dust. Mycroft seems equally transfixed by her and she can’t know that because of the torches that have been put and lit around the park her eyes look like they have stars in them. 

 

 _“Myc!”_ Sherlock races up to his brother with John in tow and F/N and Molly join them a moment later. “F/N told us that you’re friends again.”

 

“I didn't _exactly_ tell you such a thing”- F/N tries to correct, though she’s not exactly sure why she’s doing such a thing other than to be precise. She _does_ want to be friends with him. 

 

“Line up your boat with everyone else’s.” Mycroft adjusts his clipboard. 

 

“It’s a ship,” Sherlock reminds his brother because Mycroft’s brain seems to be sparking out into nothing. He seems to be getting distracted by the sight of F/N helping Molly put her boat on the water and Sherlock hopes that his brother is not thinking of anything as disgusting as kissing her, but equally he doubts that his brother’s mind is being that pure right now. “Mummy will wash your mouth out with soap,” Sherlock attempts to tell his older brother. 

 

“Hmm? What are you going on about?” Mycroft looks at him and then back at the barrier that has been made to keep the boats steady and to keep them all at the designated start line. Mrs. Hudson will be lifting the barrier up later and will probably be making many remarks about her bad hip if what Mycroft has heard from Sherlock and the impression that he does of her sometimes is an accurate one. For now though Molly’s boat just bobs there, knocking against the wall. The test tubes do their job and help to keep the Barbie, protected in her Bunsen burner shell, afloat. Molly looks delighted with it. 

 

“I said that Mummy will wash your mouth out with soap if you keep staring at F/N like that,” Sherlock repeats, and Mycroft flushes as F/N leans back questioningly to look at them. Apparently she hadn’t heard what Sherlock had said and Mycroft is eternally grateful for it.

 

Holding his brother back with a fistful of his hand in his jumper and pleading that he take more caution, Mycroft says, as he tries to cover the moment, “What did I tell you? I thought the pair of you could do a good job.” F/N’s lips quirk upward and she decides not to more seriously tell him that he’d only said such a thing after being cruel before and he only seems to have done so _now_ to distract her from whatever Sherlock had been saying. Sherlock pretends to be choking and Mycroft releases him with a bit of a frown upon his face, stretching out his hand. John giggles. 

 

“Oh, are you good friends dears?” Mrs. Hudson asks F/N and Mycroft, whilst Sherlock and John go to line up their boats-making them fly up and down in the air as they do such a thing. “I wasn’t sure whether you were just on the student council with one another.”

 

After what had happened before Mycroft looks at F/N tentatively, as if this is the last test between their friendship having potential again or taking a backward step and it’s up to her to decide, which direction they go in. 

 

“Um, yeah,” F/N contributes, “I mean there was a bit of a thing”- 

 

“Which I'm sorry for,” Mycroft apologizes to her profusely. 

 

“I think we’re good now though.” She smiles at him. Mycroft does so too and looks relieved. 

 

Mrs. Hudson seems happy as well. “Oh, that _is_ nice to hear,” she gushes, looking between them. “Maybe you’ll be good for one another.” She squeezes at their shoulders. Mycroft wriggles free with a bit of a scared expression upon his face. Both Sherlock and John laugh as they return to them. 

 

“Erm thanks, I think,” F/N says, whilst Mycroft says nothing at all until with an elaborate clearing of his throat he gestures towards the bridge. 

 

“Yeah, we better take our places,” F/N interprets and goes off with him. They’ll be spotting the winner from there and be able to provide clarification if necessary. “So, what’s all this about you nearly getting hit by a car on your way to meet me then?” she says, deciding to mention it after all since the tension needs to be broken. 

 

Mycroft looks alarmed and then resigned. “I suppose Sherlock would have told you that?”

 

“Yeah,” F/N confirms, before she goes on dryly, “Your brother’s not your best secret-keeper, _although…”_

 

 _“Mmmhmm?”_ Mycroft senses that something delicious is in the offing.

 

F/N blushes a little at that. “Well, I was just thinking, for the sake of transparency and all”-

 

_“Yes?”_

 

She grins. “If you did that and happened to be thinking of our meeting then a similar thing happened to me on my way here with all the children.” Mycroft suddenly looks more serious and concerned than she’d thought he would have done at that point. It makes her words temporarily dry up, as if the cold has seized hold of her mouth and is sucking all her words out from it like a vacuum cleaner. They get to the bridge silently. “I never put any one at risk,” she tells him. 

 

“I'm not saying that you did.” Mycroft props his clipboard up against the bridge, but still holds onto it. He grounds himself and looks gravely towards the starting line. 

 

“I just...I was happy that it looked like we might be friends again.” The truth is F/N hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, but she can't quite manage telling him that just yet. _Still,_ she knows the amount of space that he occupies in her mind and heart and that's what it comes down to in the end. The fact that she likes spending time with his family and him too much to be able to turn her back on it all. They've been her light in the shadows. 

 

"I was and am too," he reassures her, again looking at her seriously, the wind flicking back his hair a little. He studies her for a moment, tilting his head away. “Don’t put yourself at risk again though. I'm not worth it.”

 

“That’s what _I_ was going to tell _you.”_

 

A slow smile breaks over Mycroft’s face and he looks away again. Heart pounding from their conversation F/N looks at the start line too. She adjusts her folder and gives a thumbs up to Molly. The girl smiles at her. 

 

“Oh stop it,” Mycroft groans, only this time it’s a playful one, “We both know that Sherlock’s going to win.”

 

“There’s no chance of that Mr. Holmes. As much as I like Sherlock, Molly’s totally got this.”

 

“What did you just call me?” His face twists to hers. 

 

 _“ Mr. Holmes,’”_ F/N repeats, testing it out a little flirtatiously. 

 

“Get a room you two!” Greg calls from where he’s going over the bridge behind them, whilst he eats a toffee apple. 

 

Mycroft nearly falls off the bridge. F/N feels awkward, before she laughs. 

 

“I suppose we might have more of that now,” Mycroft recovers. 

 

She looks at him. He appears a little nauseous and can barely look at her. She’d think him sea sick if they weren’t on dry land. “What about this bet then?” she tries to distract him, for she senses that he’s not quite there yet, although he’s getting _closer…_

 

That perks him up. “I wasn’t aware that we’d _made_ a bet,” he says. 

 

She grins a little more widely at him. “If Sherlock wins”-

 

“Then you’ll let me take you out on a date.”

 

She looks pleasantly surprised that he’s showing more signs of getting his act together, but suddenly remembers, “That night…the night of the-the time you made the boat comment”-Mycroft shifts his weight from side to side awkwardly-“What were you going to say?”

 

 _“Hm?”_ He looks dead in front of them, though his head is tilted slightly towards hers, so that he doesn’t miss a word. 

 

“Just before Sherlock came in. You were about to tell me something,” she looks at him, “About to say-well, I asked if you hadn’t expected any one else to ask me to the dance because I'm not attractive and then you were about to say”-

 

“Ah, yes, I did begin to speak didn't I?” Mycroft’s hand goes to his hair. F/N is looking at him expectantly and he knows that he’s not going to be able to get out of this. Now that they’re friends again she seems to want to move things forwards quickly just as much as he does. He just doesn’t know _how_ to. _“Well”-_ both of their hearts pound rapidly and Mycroft’s lips feel very dry-“I was about to say, and this might not help improve things between us,” he looks awkward for a moment, but quickly goes on, “Not that I don’t think you’re attractive,” when F/N looks resigned to the idea, “In fact it rather surprised me that you don’t view yourself in that way, but then, I suppose since I was about to say that I never expected any one to be able to view you in the way that I do, I forgot to count you in the equation. You can’t see how worthwhile you are.” 

 

 _“Worthwhile?”_ she’s not sure that, that’s exactly what she’d been hoping for, but she might take it for now. 

 

“It’s a better synonym of, ‘beautiful,’ don’t you think? It tells of value on the inside and out. Something _more.”_ She thinks she might be in love with him in that moment, standing on the bridge with him when he’s just found the words to tell her everything at last. The colours of autumn-her favourite season-all around them. So much fun, warmth and laughter, yet they’re somehow in their own little bubble all the same. 

 

 _Still,_ she has to check, “And that’s the way you see me is it?” 

 

“Yes, I um,” he turns properly towards her, “I wanted to get you a gift of sorts or work in something into tonight’s event, but in the end because I couldn't access the spreadsheet and time was running very short”-

 

“Yes, I know I locked you out. I checked. I'm sorry Mycroft.”

 

“That's all right,” he's gentlemanly.

 

“You just got me a gift though,” she informs him and he looks puzzled, “Trust me. I don’t need anything else.” His face clears at that and he looks a little proud of them both and the fact that they've come this far. _“But,_ if you take me on this date”-

 

“You’d allow it?” His heart leaps at the very prospect. 

 

“I'm strongly considering it,” she clarifies with a bit of a mischievous smile upon her face, “Which means that it’s going to be a pretty poor way of making me want to avoid losing I'm afraid. Not exactly a punishment.” 

 

Something hovers in the air between them. 

 

“If _you_ had to pay then?” it takes him a lot to ask her this. He hates not being gentlemanly, unless the recipient genuinely deserves it of course, but he cannot imagine not being the one to pay if he takes F/N out on their first date. 

 

 _“Deal.”_ And if Molly wins then…perhaps we could have a date right after this? With _you_ paying of course.”

 

Mycroft almost looks as if he can’t breathe and he just gurgles incoherently for a moment, before he manages, “I hope that Molly wins.” 

 

“That’s a horrible thing to say considering that it means your brother will have to lose for it to happen,” she says, but for once she’s laughing and hearing her properly do so when its been so long makes Mycroft smile and swallow at the same time. 

 

The race begins and F/N grins a little when Mycroft tuts at the sound of pushy parents who are egging their children’s creations on. She knows that he’s never liked that kind of parenting style. _‘Sometimes I think it’s parents who should be seen and not heard,’_ he’d once told her. That had made her laugh and it makes her smile again. 

 

Philip’s boat sinks almost straight away, head first and made too heavy by the green toy dinosaur head that he’d stuck on it. Sally’s craft, made up of old make-up materials, is the next to go. John’s lifeboat vessel does well until it hits a rock and the rubber bursts. Sherlock and Molly’s creations take the lead. F/N and Mycroft exchange an excited glance as the two boats bob towards them. 

 

Sherlock, thinking that he’s got the edge, begins to run alongside the bank, but as he gets closer something catches F/N’s eye and her mouth opens. She sees James and Sebastian stood a couple of meters away. Despite not coming with the class or having been able to submit their own boats themselves they've still made it to the event. James passes Sebastian something. Sebastian’s arm arches back and suddenly there is a firework soaring towards Sherlock. It will surely go off as soon as it hits him. F/N throws her folder down and runs. Mycroft only works out what is going on a moment, before he races after her. His clipboard gets thrown in the water, as he does so, and it floats off, looking like it might crash into the boats themselves or act as some sort of barrier to them and a new finishing point. 

 

 _“SHERLOCK!”_ F/N screams as the firework plunges towards him. 

 

At the last second she grabs him and tackles him to the ground. The firework skims over their heads and lands in the water instead, sizzling for a moment ominously, before it safely dissolves, although smoke drifts into the air in a billowing fashion. 

 

Mycroft emerges through it all, _and,_ out of breath; he looks anxiously down at them. “Oh, thank God, are you all right? F/N, what on earth were you thinking?” 

 

“Yeah, and I wasn’t.” F/N nods at him slowly. Mycroft lets out a long breath. She is tired and her hair is tousled, but she is whole. She clutches at Sherlock as if she’s not ready to let go of him and she’s even more worthwhile than Mycroft had previously taken her to be. He tries to smile at her steadily, even though his heart is still skipping like a stone just beneath his chest. 

 

Sherlock meanwhile is in shock, but not hurt. His eyes are wide and fearful. He looks a little like the way he does after a nightmare. 

 

Feeling glad that it’s nothing worse than that though Mycroft helps them to their feet and touches at Sherlock’s shoulder, as if to reassure himself that his brother is still there, safe and unharmed. His other hand trembles and cradles at F/N’s back to do the same with her. _“Sher?”_ He wants his brother to talk, so that he can hammer that final nail of reassurance into place. 

 

“I'm fine,” Sherlock nods, before he looks at the boats. Mycroft stares at them too. Molly and Sherlock’s boats are rather ruined, having gotten pushed up against some stones by Mycroft’s clipboard, they are struggling not to be crushed. The sail in Sherlock’s is swooping down and Mycroft imagines that he sees a rather terrified look on Barbie’s face. “You spoil everything Myc,” Sherlock looks back at him, though this time he’s smiling, as he tells him such a thing. 

 

“At least it’s not _you_ looking in such a way,” Mycroft reassures them both, taking pleasure in the fact that for once Sherlock might not think he’s a rubbish big brother, _“Or”-_ he looks at F/N. 

 

She seems in a daze, perhaps as if she’s considering what might have just happened too? _But,_ at feeling his gaze she seems to re-collect herself and come back into being once more. She meets his eyes. 

 

Mycroft knows that there are people coming towards them to make sure that they’re all right. He can sense his mother amongst them and knows that Mrs. Hudson will be furious by what had nearly happened and will be sure to get every detail from them; yet they are not quite interrupted and so he keeps his gaze on F/N. “Doing my job for me again?” he is tender and proud. To him she has never appeared so beautiful. Slowly she smiles at him. He is all fingers and thumbs, but thinks that more than just a plain, _‘Thank you,’_ is in order and wants to live up to the standards she deserves this time. She’d saved his other sibling from being taken away from him after all. “I’ve got another gift for you it turns out.” She looks more uncertain now. Her eyes go behind him and he knows that they don’t have much time left. He pulls her to his lips and can't help groaning a little as they meet. Hers are cold, but he feels a strong desire to warm them and takes on the task with relish, finding it the most enjoyable one he's ever participated in. He puts a hand over the hair that’s on the back of her neck and feels the warmth that’s there, the warmth of her being _alive._

 

 _“Eww!”_ Sherlock says from somewhere nearby, “You’ll get germs! Mummy will have to clean your mouth out with soap! One hundred times!”

 

Mycroft and F/N smile and giggle a little into the kiss, whilst Mummy and Mrs. Hudson coo in the distance and come to a stop, admiring the scene that they can see through the clearing smoke. 

 

*

 

At both schools a new sort of order is created. Greg advises Mycroft and keeps him on track with his new relationship, though he _does_ stick to football practice when F/N and Mycroft are the ones to hold hands, as they go and pick up Sherlock and John. At the primary school itself James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran are expelled for endangering the lives of students and for not learning from their previous mistake. Sebastian’s mother accuses the school of putting ideas into her son’s head and that is why her son had gone on to do what he had in the first place. Mrs. Hudson tells her that, that’s nonsense because Headmaster Stamford is too nice to do such a thing. Molly Hooper is declared the winner of the boat race and given a crystal growing kit in the hopes that it will further her interest in science and one of Mrs. Hudson’s hopes does come true after all.

 

For one day, over a week later, after school, and after Molly had done particularly well in their latest science experiment, Sherlock runs up to his brother and asks him rather unselfishly, “Can I ask Molly if she can come and do the science experiment with us on Saturday? John’s already coming of course.” John looks simultaneously both annoyed and pleased by the way that Sherlock’s told them such a thing. 

 

“As is F/N,” Mycroft says almost absent-mindedly because he is concentrating more on the fact that F/N is holding onto his arm and how pleasant it feels. _F/N,_ who is aware of his attention and finds hers on him also, lowers her arm with a little hum and strokes at his hand encouragingly, thinking that it will be good for Molly, even though she knows that Mycroft will probably grumble about how it seems like the whole of Sherlock’s class are now invited into his home. John tries not to suppress a giggle when Sherlock catches the sight of F/N caressing his brother’s hand and looks torn between happiness and retching because of it. “Of course we’ll have to check with our parents, but I don’t see why it should be a problem,” Mycroft finally replies, before he smiles when F/N pecks at his cheek happily. They are yet to kiss properly again, but Mycroft hopes that they will do so very soon... 

 

Sherlock beams and then they all go to the Holmes’s for dinner where Mummy will once again be making something delicious, Sherlock and John will be fidgety and loud and probably get up a couple of times mid-meal just because they get distracted by something and Mummy will smile at F/N and Mycroft’s quiet conversation together. 

 

Maybe one day one of her hopes will come true too, but for now everything is perfect.


	2. The Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support! :3

It is a cool, autumn day and a busy Saturday morning at the Holmes household. 

 

Mycroft comes trotting downstairs from having just made sure that he’s presentable, still touching at his hair a little with his hands as if it’s a pudding that mustn't wobble. 

 

Sherlock has taken over the sturdy kitchen table and is busy lining everything up for that day’s experiment. 

 

Mummy and Father have wisely gone for a stroll around town and a spot of light lunch, though Father had rather had to work at getting Mummy out of the house-she’d been keen to hover around F/N, Mycroft had sensed, and he’d felt grateful for Father’s intervention. 

 

 _“Now,”_ Mycroft bustles into the kitchen, “You have it all prepared? Because there will be more of us here today and I don’t want to have to be looking around and delaying everyone”-

 

“It’s _only_ F/N and Molly,” Sherlock doesn’t know _why_ he’s causing such a fuss for. He’s been rather looking forward to the girls’ presence too, but he doesn’t want to show his brother this, and especially not when Mycroft is the one who currently seems the most determined to put him off their arrival. 

 

Mycroft gives him a bit of a look with his head tilted, before his brow furrows when Sherlock’s nose wrinkles up and he looks around at the chemistry equipment. “What is it?” Mycroft asks him. 

 

Sherlock picks up vials, test tubes and beakers and sniffs at them. He does _not_ want to alarm his brother or cause the commotion that will inevitably follow, _but-_

 

 _“Sher?”_ Mycroft pushes. 

 

His brother looks up at him. “I was sure that I cleaned everything up properly last week because I was trying to be a good brother”-

 

“Yes, you did,” Mycroft overlooks Sherlock’s attempt to make him go softer on him, “I know as much because _I_ helped you.” Mycroft is well aware that they’d scrubbed everything within an inch of its life because he’d had arm ache for a long time afterwards. 

 

“But something smells funny.” Sherlock pulls a face now and glances around at everything. 

 

Mycroft frowns and picks up a beaker, sniffing at it himself. He can’t smell anything unusual though and nor can he when he repeats the process with a few other objects. He has heard tell however of research that has been done, which states that young children’s senses are more finely tuned than that of older people’s ones, and though Mycroft is only seven years older than his brother it wouldn’t surprise him if that was the case here. He can tell too, by the expression that is on Sherlock’s face, that this is not some sort of trick or prank that is designed to test his patience, before the others get there and something that will be gone over in great detail excitedly with John later. He consequently takes his brother’s issue most seriously. “When did you first smell it? Perhaps you could describe the smell of it to me?” Sherlock thinks about such a thing for a moment, whilst Mycroft hopes that they don’t have a gas leak in the house. The youngest Holmes brother’s face soon clears however. _“Yes?”_ Mycroft prompts. 

 

“It was just after you came in. It smells sort of musky, like a burning scent or one you would get right before rain, and, _oh”-_ Sherlock smiles a little awkwardly. He knows that it won’t be long before Mycroft comes to the same conclusion that he has done. 

 

Mycroft realizes in that moment that the thing Sherlock has smelt is his cologne. “That strong is it?” He clears his throat. Sherlock pulls a face. “Perhaps _I’ll”-_ Mycroft gestures towards the ceiling-“Just go and wash some of it off then?”

 

 _“Yeah,”_ Sherlock tells him, as if such a thing should be obvious to him. 

 

Inevitably Mycroft has barely gone upstairs when there comes the ring of the doorbell. Sherlock goes off to answer it. 

 

F/N is stood in the middle of his vision with John and Molly either side of her. John is more relaxed and looks ready for the experiment with his camouflage trousers and brown top, but F/N and Molly look a little more nervous. Despite the fact that F/N has been in the house before she keeps touching at her hair. She’s in a shiny black jacket, lilac jumper, thin white top, which has some lace decoration upon the collar of it along with a pair of smart, black trousers. Her usual African style bracelet is also present upon her wrist. Molly has opted just to wear her school uniform and she has a pink rucksack upon her back. 

 

“Hello Sherlock,” F/N says, and though she’s friendly enough her eyes ricochet off him like a pinball and roam behind him. 

 

“ ‘Lo,” Sherlock says casually with an extra shrug and John sends him a bit of a quizzical look. Sherlock is more the boy he recognizes in the next moment though when he calls over his shoulder at the top of his lungs, _“Mycroft!_ Your girlfriend’s here!” Sherlock and John snigger straight afterwards. Molly looks shy. 

 

F/N however takes instant revenge. “Is that _all_ I am now? Mycroft’s girlfriend? You _know_ I'm so much more than that. I can still do _this_ after all!” She stretches her hands out suddenly and launches a ferocious tickle attack upon the boy. 

 

“No! No!” Sherlock shrieks, twisting his body this way and that and trying to shield the core of his body with his hands. 

 

John bounces up and down with a winning smile upon his face and sparkling eyes, whilst Molly giggles. Her cheeks are red. 

 

“Someone being murdered down there?” They hear the sound of rumbling footsteps on the stairs, before Mycroft appears from around the corner of them.

 

 _“Nope,”_ F/N straightens up a little and pushes her hair back, as she beams at him, “Just putting Sherlock in his place.” 

 

 _“Ah,”_ Mycroft trots neatly down the rest of the stairs with an efficient smile upon his face. “You should mind F/N, Sherlock,” he sweeps his brother aside easily with one hand, “She can still get the better of you, though you might like to repeat what you just said. I believe the little old lady down the street missed you the first time, but she’s put her hearing aid in now.” Sherlock scowls at his brother. Mycroft, meanwhile, tries to convince himself once more that he’s with F/N romantically. Did she just smile at him? He can kiss her on the cheek now, though he won’t do so at the present with the others being there. It feels weird that he’s allowed to get that close to her sometimes. That he doesn’t have to be overly careful any more. He doesn’t even have to make the excuse of student council to ring her up any more either, though he still does so sometimes because he feels as if he’s ringing her _too_ often. He can’t help it though. Sometimes he feels as if it must have been a dream. He’d _dreamt_ that he’d had the nerve to kiss her on Bonfire Night and that they’re now together. He needs constant proof, but before he can get it this time she sneezes. 

 

“Oh, so sorry,” she murmurs, apologetically, stepping back from him a little. 

 

“You’re not allergic to anything are you?” Mycroft asks her in concern. 

 

Sherlock sniggers. “She’s not sensitive to anything!” he tells him. He thinks his brother is hopelessly stupid when it comes to F/N sometimes. “You’re still wearing too much perfume and _I_ can still get the better of _you,”_ Sherlock rumbles now and F/N smiles slightly, but looks startled a moment later when Sherlock tries to leap on Mycroft’s back. Successful he grabs onto Mycroft’s shoulders and slides his arms over, getting more comfortable, before he crosses his arms across Mycroft’s collarbone. 

 

Mycroft nearly head buts F/N in the chest, before he manages to straighten up. “Get off me you little felon! You could have hurt someone!” By someone Sherlock knows that Mycroft means, _‘F/N.’_ “It is not perfume that I am wearing, but cologne. Perfume is for _ladies_ Sherlock. Surely you know that?” 

 

“What you’ve got on is nothing more than man spray,” Sherlock protests. Mycroft frantically tries to support his balance with one hand and attempts to swipe at his brother with the other. Sherlock clings on though; motivated by John’s cheers for him to do so. It is rather like being on a bucking bronco. 

 

“If _I_ can still get the better of you”- Sherlock begins, putting his head by Mycroft’s, and the curls of his hair brush teasingly against his brother’s cheek.

 

 _“Hmm?”_ Mycroft grumbles, but the tension inside him softens somewhat at the pleased expression upon F/N’s face who seems to be finding the scene in front of her immensely amusing and has the tips of her fingers by her lips, lips that Mycroft can’t help but get distracted by for a moment-

 

“But F/N can get the better of me, then what does that make you? Are you smarter than F/N?”

 

Mycroft looks at his girlfriend a little sheepishly. “I’d prefer _not_ to answer that question right now.”

 

“So wise,” F/N teases him. They both know that he's the smarter one. 

 

 _“Why?”_ Sherlock slides down off his brother’s back and Mycroft can still feel the burn around his collarbone from where he’d been holding on. 

 

“That’s rather an adult matter Sherlock,” Mycroft tells his brother importantly, smoothing down his clothes-he’s got a grey waistcoat that has darker swirls on it along with a white open-necked shirt and dark jeans on. 

 

“But _you’re_ not an adult either. Just because you have a _girlfriend_ Mycroft when anyone can get one of them, even _Anderson._ It does _not_ make you an adult”-

 

Mycroft bends his head to look coolly and calmly into his brother’s eyes. “Jealousy does not befit you brother mine. Nor does it stop you from sounding like the stupid boy you are.” 

 

Sherlock’s eyes scrunch up a little in hurt, as if Mycroft is the sun that should have felt nice and warm upon his face, but instead has just blinded him.

 

 _“Mycroft,”_ F/N hisses, thinking that he’s gone too far. 

 

“Things always go badly for you Sher. I don’t know _why_ you have to push things so much,” the oldest Holmes goes on, not being able to help himself despite F/N’s attempted intervention. 

 

“ Come on. Why don’t we get our shoes off and go into the kitchen hm? I'm sure that’s where we’ll be doing the experiment.” F/N looks to Mycroft and he nods. She ushers Molly and John past her and they begin to take their shoes off as she enters the house herself. Sherlock heads sourly back to the kitchen. F/N looks after him concernedly and then looks at Mycroft, but his face is tight and his eyes are avoiding hers. Clearly he knows that he’s gone down the wrong path again, but he’s got his arms crossed too and his finger is tapping impatiently against the corner of his elbow, so there’s an element of defiance there. She sighs. They’re both as bad as each other, she thinks. If Sherlock pushes things so far then Mycroft does so just as much. Molly and John pad off into the kitchen and she offers Molly a strained smile when the girl looks back at her a little anxiously. F/N shucks her own shoes off, leaning a little against the banister of the stairs and then makes to follow them. 

 

Mycroft’s hand clamps upon her arm as she goes past him however. “I'm sorry about this,” he says a little heavily and she looks at him in surprise, mistakenly thinking that he’s apologising for the entirely avoidable situation that had just happened between his brother and him, before he adds, “About all this experimenting. You’re probably going to find it terribly boring. That’s why I’ve never invited you around here before, for it, if you’ve been wondering why I haven’t, _but”-_

 

“The only thing that I find boring,” F/N announces, “Is you constantly feeling like you have to put Sherlock in his place. How many times have _we_ been annoyed when adults don’t take _us_ seriously?”

 

“That’s just the way my brother and I am,” Mycroft looks off to the side peevishly and he sounds rather exasperated with her. He doesn’t get that the little annoyances she’s felt towards him before now feel ten times worse and more problematic because they’re dating. 

 

As if she gets that she has to explain to him some more she tells him, “But it doesn’t _have_ to be that way. Is that the way it’s going to be with us?” She looks at him a little desperately. “One day you’ll just start criticizing me and then you won’t stop? Because if _that’s_ how you conduct all of your relationships then”-

 

“I'm not quite human remember, so you’re going to have to be patient with me,” Mycroft quirks an eyebrow up at her, before, and when she looks doubtful, he adds, “Of _course_ it won’t be that way between us. What’s this all about?” His hand reaches towards hers and he grasps at her fingertips gently. His blue eyes try and look searchingly into her e/c ones, but she ducks her head. “Is it about the fact that I haven’t taken you out on that date yet?” His stomach squirms a little guiltily. He’d insisted, after Molly had been declared the winner post the Bonfire Night boat race, that he’d be the one taking F/N out and paying for the meal. “You know I’d much rather be doing that today. Its just been difficult for us to both fit it in what with everything and I don’t want to rush it. I’ve been doing some research online however and”- F/N looks up at him more hopefully, _but-_

 

“Are you coming? Mummy said that you’re supposed to be supervising us and John and I have already started on the experiment,” Sherlock calls across to them, looking at them a bit dubiously from the kitchen entrance. 

 

Mycroft slips his hand quickly away from F/N’s and she feels this weird pang of pain because of it. 

 

“Yes, of course,” Mycroft quickly moves past her towards the kitchen now. F/N watches him until he disappears, before she follows after him reluctantly. 

 

The three younger children are already gathered around the kitchen table and there are several different coloured chemicals in test tubes and packets of half-ripped powder that are also present. Sherlock pours one of the liquids into a beaker. John looks on fascinated, but Molly’s stood back a little. 

 

“Hey Molls.” F/N goes up to her and puts an arm reassuringly around her shoulders. Mycroft smiles at her doing such a thing, glad that she can manage acts like that despite the fact that they don’t seem to be on the best of terms right now. He might have done some research about their possible date location, he hadn’t exactly lied to her about that and he’s been picturing F/N and him in all manner of places-particularly the higher end sort that he might be able to afford with a bit of saving-but he knows just as much as F/N does that they could easily have gone somewhere after school. Mummy or Greg could have brought Sherlock and John home for one day. He’s sure that neither of them would have minded doing such a thing if it had given F/N and him time together. He’s been putting off the date though because he’s been rather fearful about what might happen on it. He seems to be going wrong a lot without F/N and him being alone together all that much and he does not want to risk their date being the only one they ever have. 

 

“I brought the crystal growing kit that I won,” Molly tilts her head up towards F/N timidly, “I don’t know if”- 

 

“I’ve already started today’s experiment. You should have told me before,” Sherlock says in an authoritative tone, but Molly would have never been as bold to do such a thing. 

 

“We could always do _more_ than one,” F/N suggests, thinking that Sherlock will no doubt be happy at such a prospect.

 

 _That_ gets Mycroft’s attention and he looks at her in alarm. “I think _one_ is quite enough,” he tells her.  
_Besides,_ he rather hopes that after they do the experiment and before Mummy and Father should come home F/N and he might have the chance to have more of a private moment together. He can attempt to explain things somewhat properly to her then and hopefully she will be more understanding and they’ll be on the same page. Such a thing _won’t_ happen though if they do another experiment he knows.  
When F/N looks at him a little crossly however he adds in an attempt to diffuse things, “I think it would be more than my brother could bear since he would have liked to have had the prize himself.” 

 

“It’s good of Molly to want to share it with everyone though,” F/N rebuffs him and Mycroft’s heart sinks somewhat. Nothing he seems to say seems to be good enough. 

 

“I don’t _need_ her to share it with us,” Sherlock says as Mycroft had known he would and his eyebrows rise F/N’s way, as if to tell her that his point has just been made. 

 

 _“Well,_ you’re not the only one here Sherlock. Perhaps John would like to see it?” F/N keeps on about the thing, though John quickly gives her a look, shakes his head and holds up his hands, as if to tell her that she should leave him out of it. 

 

“No matter the case, since you’ve turned up here in your school uniform we’ll have to get you to put Mummy’s apron on, before you do _anything,”_ Mycroft tells Molly with a bit of a forced smile now, “We can’t have your school uniform getting ruined. As members of the school council I think F/N and I would be slaughtered!” he tries to joke and bring F/N and he together again, but the stubborn and most unimpressed expression on F/N’s face remains. 

 

“I don’t think _anyone_ would care about that,” she tells him haughtily, before she steers Molly aside to where the aprons are kept and tugs the one that she’s seen Violet use in the past over the young girl’s head. 

 

Mycroft glances at the pair of them sadly for a moment, wondering how he keeps managing to go so wrong in his relationship with F/N and wishing that he could rewind and get a second chance to go right with all of his mistakes.  
He doesn’t have a time machine though, let alone one that would be _that_ efficient and Sherlock and John are excitedly squabbling about something or another, so he goes to try and supervise them instead and make himself feel better that way. 

 

“Shouldn't the pair of you be waiting until the girls are ready?” he asks them, but is basically ignored aside from the slight faltering in John’s words and the way that Sherlock’s brow creases up. The chemical that Sherlock had poured in earlier is already frothing a pinky-red in its beaker. 

 

F/N strides behind Sherlock and John now, causing a draught, her hair tied back and Molly in tow. Mycroft gulps. He’s seen _that_ walk before. It’s the one that she does when she wants to get something done. The one that he’s seen her use to march up corridors, before she sweet-talks teachers. That walk is the student council’s secret weapon, but he’s not sure how comfortable he feels about it being deployed in his own home…he watches as she clears a section of the table free from the equipment that Sherlock had so carefully put out earlier. 

 

“Leave them where they are! Everything has its place!” the young boy whines when he sees what she’s doing. 

 

 _“Well,_ I need a little bit of space for the experiment that Molly and I are doing together, but I don’t need much,” F/N tells Sherlock more sternly than she’d usually talk to him. Mycroft looks at her quizzically. 

 

“You can’t do one. Not when _we’re_ doing this one!” Sherlock gestures now, ignoring how the froth is bubbling over the beaker. John looks like he might try and clean it up with his hands, but Mycroft quickly passes him a cloth, before he looks in between his brother and F/N, his brow furrowed as to whose side he should be taking. 

 

“Of _course_ we can,” F/N replies to him breezily. “Apart from not making too much of a mess and cleaning up afterwards I don’t think there are any rules here.” Sherlock looks desperately at Mycroft, who shrugs at him, as if to say resignedly, _‘Well, we did invite them, so I suppose it’s_ our _fault really.’ “Besides,”_ F/N goes on now and Sherlock’s attention goes back to her, “I'm sure there’s enough space to line everything else that you need behind what you’ve already got going on there. Your brother can pass things to you if it’s too difficult for you or not safe to do so.” 

 

“I'm supposed to be supervising _all_ of you,” Mycroft reminds her with a firm sort of gentleness, “I can hardly do that if we've got _two_ experiments on the go.”

 

“You’ll just have to delegate then,” F/N looks at him a little cheekily, “Like you do with the student council.” 

 

“This is different.” The gaze between them grows heated and they simply can’t take their eyes off one another. “Mummy put _me_ solely in charge. That means even of _you,_ F/N, so don’t disobey me now.” He doesn’t know what they’re fighting over, but he senses that it has very little to do with the science experiment and is aware of the significance of it. 

 

“Don’t _disobey_ you?” F/N scoffs.

 

“Yes, I don’t see why you have to criticize me all the time. I know what your standards are, but I don’t see why they have to be so impossibly high? Surely you can see that I'm trying? Even though it doesn’t seem that I can live up to either my mother’s or _your_ expectations?” the words just come rushing out of him, but Mycroft instantly regrets them, especially the fact that he’s said them in front of the others. He bites at his lip. 

 

“Maybe I just don’t think you’re trying _hard_ enough,” she tells him and Mycroft’s mouth opens a little. He never thought that she’d be so cruel. “In any case I'm sure your mother wouldn’t mind Molly and I doing this experiment. She’d probably encourage it. Mathematics being her own field and so closely aligned with science after all,” she changes the subject and looks down.

 

Mycroft isn’t ready to let go of it just yet. “Maybe you’re right. You seem to have enough in common with her.”

 

“I don’t have to put up with this. You acting as if your mother is an awful woman when there’s nothing wrong with either her or me.” F/N looks at him. “Molly and I can go over to mine instead. I'm sure the kitchen stuff there will be adequate enough. We don’t _have_ to have proper equipment and we certainly don’t have to stay here just to be abused by the male hierarchy.”

 

Mycroft looks at Sherlock, as if he’s wondering what he should do in this situation. Sherlock gazes back at him in exasperation, as if to remind Mycroft that F/N’s _his_ girlfriend and he should figure it out for himself. Mycroft sighs. _“Fine,”_ he looks back at F/N, “I can’t stop you from leaving if you’re so unhappy here, but I’d rather that you both stayed.” _‘So that I might be able to repair some of the cracks that I’ve somehow just caused,’_ he adds in his head. “In any case,” he huffs out, thinking that he can’t surely be responsible for all the damage that is somehow between them, “Look at it from the viewpoint of Molly’s parents. They gave her permission to come around here, not to yours. What if something happened? Or they came over here in a hurry, trying to find her? You’re going to put me in a rather awkward position if I have to explain to them that she’s not here. It’s not very responsible of you F/N.”

 

“I'm sure my parents would be”- Molly begins timidly, but Mycroft glares at her, thinking it rude of her to speak when this is between F/N and him, and she cuts her words off hurriedly. 

 

“Nice try,” F/N tells him wryly, reassured by Molly’s response, “But we’ll be careful, and if you _really_ think that my house will be more dangerous than this one”-she nods at Sherlock and John who are whooping now, as they put different powders into the beaker to make the chemical inside it change colour, though John has to keep dabbing around the beaker as the chemical froths out and the powder they’re using too goes everywhere. Mycroft can see that it’s hopeless and she _knows_ that he can. 

 

With a bit of a soft sigh she goes up to him and pecks him on the cheek. Her hand brushes against his chest as she does so and she breathes him in for a moment, before she lets go of him. It’s strange and he could never have imagined it would feel this way before, but something hurts, _physically_ hurts when she drags her hand away and is no longer touching him. It feels even though they’re supposedly boyfriend and girlfriend now that they’re further away from one another than they were before. Molly hands Mycroft the apron, but he puts it aside dismissively, before he follows after them swiftly to the door. 

 

“I’ll see you soon then,” he doesn’t know what else to say. He just wants to make sure of that one thing. 

 

“Probably,” F/N tells him with a smile, sharing similar sentiments to the one that he’d offered her on Bonfire Night and giving him a bit of a wave as she turns around and herds Molly away. 

 

Mycroft watches them for a moment, wondering what’s going on with her, but a crash that comes from the kitchen tells him that he’s needed again. 

 

* 

 

“Why are you afraid?” is what Molly asks when F/N and she are walking briskly towards F/N’s house. 

 

 _“Huh?”_ F/N looks at her and slows down her pace, feeling a little confused. 

 

 _“Well,”_ Molly begins, glad for the adjustment in their walking speed because the pace they’d been hurtling at had been a struggle for her shorter legs, “I know I brought the crystal growing kit with me, but it didn't have to be _used_ today. It was fine sitting in my rucksack and I didn't mind taking it home again. To be honest I thought that Sherlock would probably have a plan anyway and he’s not very good at changing his mind once he’s decided upon something. I just brought it to try and be more confident. I also think you were trying to make a point to Mycroft, and although I agree with what I think your intentions were, I don’t think it would have set girl power back a bit if we _hadn’t_ done the experiment today. Just the fact that we’re girls doing science is enough to balance it out I think. So what are you afraid of?”

 

“Nothing. It’s not him anyway. I don’t want you thinking it is,” F/N looks at her severely and Molly believes her, before the older girl decides, “I think he _was_ right about something though.”

 

 _“Yeah?”_ Molly asks her softly. 

 

“I don’t think we _should_ be going to mine without your parents permission, _and,_ since, like you’ve said, it doesn’t matter to you when we do the experiment, do you mind if I take you back to yours now?” Molly, just like Mycroft, is getting too close to the real her and F/N can’t take that. 

 

*

 

The next day, which is a Sunday, Mycroft finds himself around at F/N’s and in her bedroom-they have to leave the door open at the insistence of her mother for them to do so, but it is good, he thinks, that F/N’s mother at least doesn’t hover as much as his own insists on doing and that they might get a chance to speak more privately. After what had transpired the previous day he’s feeling a bit worried about their relationship and about what might be going on in F/N’s head. He thinks, however, that if they could get things sorted out today and be more on the same page then he’d be more motivated to get on with their date and feel more confident about doing so. 

 

He’s in another quandary though. He’d gotten away with the idea of going over the checklist for the ball and making sure that they weren’t missing anything, mainly because F/N has been working very hard on it, more particularly than with some of the previous things that they've worked on together, and seems as eager to get it right as he is. But when she’d first taken him up to her room that’s when he’d first realized that she might have been expecting him a couple of minutes later than when he’d arrived-though she should know by now, Mycroft thinks with a fondness in his chest, that he will always be early or as on time as he can be for her, he cannot help himself no matter what is going on between them-for there had been an A5 writing journal on her bed with a light blue cover upon it. She’d tucked it untidily onto one of the shelves, as he’d entered, obviously not wanting him to look at it, but the edge of it sticks out clumsily and taunts him as he now stares at it. F/N has gone to fetch some tea for them and he is alone. 

 

He knows that he shouldn't do what he’s considering and usually he wouldn’t _dare_ to. The very notion of going against his gentlemanly ways would appal him, as would anything that could once again hinder his relationship with F/N. His heart jumps whenever she pecks him on the cheek or she comes up behind him and touches him gently on the shoulder. It feels like a surprise to him every time. He adores the way that they now hold hands when they go and pick Sherlock and John up and he doesn’t want to lose any of those things. _Yet,_ she’s also picked on him quite often too, criticizing some of his decisions for the ball or acting like they weren’t good enough and that she should choose the colours of the decorations herself, even though one of the things that Mycroft knows he can do well is match colours together. Yesterday had also been unpleasant for them and he’d just like to know what she finds so offensive about him. He wants to have a long-term relationship with her, but doubts the capability of that happening at the moment. If he could have a _way_ though, of knowing what’s in that head of hers, or at least a little bit-he looks at the journal again-then that might be better. It might save him from having to have a conversation with her and from more wrath coming his way. Might prove to be a guide to his way forwards. He crosses over to the journal instinctively now and then looks hurriedly back towards the door, as if F/N might burst in and demand what he’s doing. His eyes flick anxiously between the two objects for a moment. Door. Journal. Journal. Door. _Then,_ with tentative fingers, he pulls the journal down from the shelf. Her laptop hums a little angrily on her desk beneath it, as if it’s telling him off. The journal’s pages however open easily in his hands, as if they _want_ him to look at them and Mycroft wonders for a moment if F/N _does_ want him to do such a thing. Had _that_ been why she’d left the journal so exposed on her bed? Why she’d barely taken any pain to hide it? Had it not been, as he’d first thought, an accident, which she’d politely tried to cover up in front of him? She’s clever enough after all, he knows. Maybe she’d _hoped_ that he’d look at it because she can’t get the words out to him either? Maybe she can’t tell him what he’s doing wrong, but this way-

 

Mycroft soon knows however, as his eyes skim across the words on the pages before him-all written in blue ink and in a loopy sort of scrawl-that there’s little chance that F/N would have wanted him to read _this._ They are not, as he’d first hoped, and now his stomach squirms at his selfish thought, lines and lines about him and her desires for their relationship, but letters for her father who Mycroft knows is in Africa. Letters telling him about her day. Letters to soothe herself. Letters that are full of both warmth and despair at the same time. Letters that she’s probably _never_ intending to send, but that are important to her and _meaningful…_

 

Mycroft hears some movement on the stairs, the tail end of a conversation between F/N and her mother happening and the rattling of a tea tray. He flips the journal swiftly shut, but her handwriting seems to hover before his eyes like a chemical that simmers and he can’t seem to toss the book quickly enough back on its shelf, for it is still there in his hands, when F/N bursts into the room a moment later. 

 

 _“Hey…”_ she says to him, before the rest of her words die in her throat when she sees what he’s holding. “What’s that?” The tea tray tips and looks as if it’s about to slide out of her hands, so he goes across there hurriedly to help support it, whilst still clutching at the journal. “What are you doing with _that?”_ She thrusts the tea tray at him. 

 

“Careful…” Winded he lets out a breath, before he takes the tea tray from her and moves away to settle both it and the journal down on her bedside cabinet, before either of them can get hurt. The book that she is currently reading is on the bedside cabinet, as well as a small, framed photo of them that Violet had caught in secret after their kiss on Bonfire Night and later distributed. In it Mycroft and F/N’s faces are half-turned towards one another’s indulgently and they’re smiling, but doing so in a nervous fashion. Mycroft feels a pang of pain just from looking at it. 

 

“This is exactly why I had such a problem with some of the things you said to me yesterday.” F/N is furious and he turns reluctantly back to her. She marches up to him and swipes the journal off the bedside cabinet, before she holds it close to her chest. “Is nothing private? I didn't think you’d be that sort of person. Just like I didn't think you’d ever be such a chauvinist to say that girls can’t make boats before. I guess I'm getting used to you disappointing me, but I don’t think our relationship’s going to last long like this.” 

 

“That’s not fair”-

 

“Just like half the things you say to me, your brother and everyone in fact aren't”-

 

“Why are you being so cold? You know of my faults.”

 

“Yeah, because you never take any trouble to disguise them,” she scoffs. 

 

“But, in spite of all that, I have a feeling that there’s something _more_ going on here”-

 

 _“Oh,_ do you now?”

 

 _“Yes.”_ Mycroft swallows down his irritation with her. “Something with you. That I'm not just to blame for all of this, and I accept that I have a long way to go, before you’ll view me as I’d like you to, but… _why_ are you acting this way? I don’t think you would have before”-his head tilts-“We started dating,” he finishes quietly. “Is that it?” He tries to swim past her eyes and gain access to her mind itself. “Have you changed your mind? Do you regret what happened on Bonfire Night?” She remains silent now and looks down, fidgeting with the side of her journal uncomfortably. “I see…maybe I should go then?” He doesn’t receive the protest he wants to and begins to leave the room. She steps aside and he moves past her. The door falls into an ajar position once he has gone through it and he looks behind him. He cannot see F/N, but he can feel her lonely and sad presence and doesn’t know how to make things any better. 

 

He treads downstairs softly. Mind torn, he’s about to leave the house, before he decides on padding towards the kitchen instead. F/N’s mother is sitting down by the circular table that’s in the middle of the room and she is puffing away on a cigarette. “Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you,” the sight makes Mycroft say. He has smelt smoke faintly around her before, but he has never seen her smoking before.

 

“Bad habit I know,” she nods, and a bit of ash falls into the tray that she’s got beneath her dangled cigarette, “Especially in my job, but I need it sometimes.” Mycroft’s hands slide together awkwardly. He’s not sure if she’s expecting him to ask what has made her need it on that day, but he doesn’t particularly want to do such a thing. He’d much rather stay focused now that he’s found himself there and then get out. “You come to fetch something?”

 

“No, I’ll be leaving in a moment”-

 

F/N’s mother’s eyebrows rake up against her fringe. “Drank your tea fast?”-

 

“Yes,” Mycroft lies even though he hadn’t touched it. “Listen Mrs. L/N, without meaning to pry or anything”-

 

 _“Oh,_ I was frightened this might happen”-Mycroft looks at her in surprise-“She being difficult is she?” 

 

“I went through her journal and now she’s upset with me. I didn't mean to, but”- he says this all in a rush, hoping that this one admittance might lead to some greater understanding and even craving some sympathy. 

 

“I can’t blame you dear.” F/N’s mother laughs, as she gives him what he hadn’t really expected to be so lucky to receive. “I’ve wondered enough how her mind works myself. _Why,_ ever since her father went into a coma, she’s been”- 

 

 _“What?”_ Mycroft for once is rude in demanding information. She looks at him. “I mean, I'm sorry, I beg your pardon, but did you just say that your husband and F/N’s father is in a coma?” 

 

 _“Yes…”_ She looks at him, as if to ask how is that new information to him? It suddenly clicks with her. “Did F/N not tell you?”

 

Mycroft shakes his head, feeling stunned from what has happened. It has been a world away from the visit that he’d wanted to have ideally-the visit where a greater understanding between the two of them would have somehow emerged and perhaps, if he had got very lucky, some more kissing would have taken place. “She told me that her father had started a new life in Africa with a new wife. That they run Safari Tours together.” He realizes now how stupid it sounds, how out of place. He knows of course that people _do_ start afresh and that some people _do_ run Safari Tours, but the thing blares out at him as being manufactured. Yet he’d never questioned it before. F/N’s face had always shown so much pain at any mention of her father that he hadn’t wanted to pursue it. Hadn't wanted to push such a thing. 

 

“The truth is,” F/N’s mother says, looking sad and concerned about her daughter’s lies now and her fingers fidget with the cigarette anxiously, before she seems to realize what she’s doing and stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray, “He had a stroke when F/N was six-years-old. I found her peering up at him when I got home from my shift. He was slumped in the kitchen chair and she had the phone with her, but hadn’t seemed able to use it. If F/N is not being the person you want her to be then it’s probably because she has been through so much hurt that she’s trying to avoid any more.” It makes sense. Mycroft’s face clears. _That’s_ why she’s been picking on him so much, why every little thing about him now seems to annoy her. She’s been trying to drive him away because she too is scared of things disintegrating between them, but perhaps feels that it’s inevitable that they will. Somehow he has to make her faith grow in the other direction, but first he has to come to terms with all of what he’s heard. He thanks F/N’s mother for her words and then leaves. Every step on the way home gives him time to think and makes him feel more pained and frustrated about the situation. 

 

*

 

“He knows doesn’t he?” is what F/N asks fearfully when her mother comes upstairs and sits down on the bed beside her. 

 

F/N’s mother touches tentatively at her hand and then lets go of her because she doesn’t know much about who her daughter is any more, let alone if she’s willing to accept such affection. She nods. “If it’s any consolation to you then I don’t think he meant any harm by going through your journal. I think he was just a bit confused as what to do for the best.” _‘Like how I’ve been.’_

 

“I know he didn't.” F/N lets out a choked kind of noise. “He just doesn’t know how to act around people and he doubts himself. He never _means_ anything.”

 

“Oh, I think he means whatever he says he does about you”-

 

_“But”-_

 

“It’s the fact that he knows that bothers you most of all isn’t it?” F/N’s mother finally understands this one thing and F/N nods tearily, gripping onto the side of the bed very hard with her free hand. “Oh _F/N!_ Why didn't you tell him the truth? All that stuff about _Africa”-_ her mother’s so frustrated with her. 

 

“I just wanted to be _normal_ Mum!” F/N wails at her now and her mother pulls her towards her side soothingly. “I didn't want to be that girl who has a father who’s in a coma. I just wanted to be like everyone else is, but now I’ve made Dad look bad haven’t I? He’d be _so_ upset with me”-

 

“You’re just as bad as that boyfriend of yours,” her mother pushes her back a little, but holds onto her shoulders and looks seriously into her daughter’s eyes. F/N at least manages a giggle for her. “You both worry over nothing it seems. Haven’t I always taught you that nothing can’t be solved with a good chat over a cup of tea?” F/N nods and wipes at her eyes. _“Now,_ you listen to me, your father would be very proud of you.”

 

“For what? For making it sound like he’s _abandoned_ us?” F/N grows more distraught and a fresh onslaught of tears comes. 

 

“No, for knowing where you’ve gone wrong. Now, what are you going to do about it?” 

 

*

 

Mycroft, still on his way home, wonders why F/N hadn’t apparently told anyone? Or maybe she had. Maybe she’d told Greg? They’d been close and going out with one another before she and him had. The thought makes something burn inside him and he doesn’t re-call F/N picking on Greg as much during that time either. Why hadn’t she _felt_ that she could tell him? Is he that horrible towards her? That repugnant and lacking in human ability? But no, he tries to overwrite emotion with logic like the computer script Sherlock had learnt on a coding course. He’s her best friend, hadn’t that been what she’d told him? It had been nice, being _her_ best friend. Nice and unexpected. It had made him feel important, like he was actually worth something and meant something to someone. Yet she hadn’t told him…she hadn’t told him about the moment that had gone on to affect the rest of her life. 

 

Finally home he moves into the kitchen and leans against the door a little for support, losing the need to be strong and stay so upright when he sees that it is only his father present.

 

 _“Mycroft?”_ Edwin says, mid-way through raiding the biscuit jar, before dinner, which is bubbling away contentedly on the stove. Mycroft can hear Sherlock chatting to Mummy about something in the living room. Father however abandons his stomach-filling quest at once and comes across to Mycroft, before he sits him down on the closest chair that’s by the table. He crouches before him, close to touching his leg, but not quite. His eyes are kindly. “What is it son? What’s happened?” 

 

Feeling nauseous Mycroft shakes his head slowly. “F/N and I had a bit of a falling out Father.”

 

“Oh dear.”

 

“Yes, but then, just before I was leaving I-I spoke to F/N’s mother.”

 

“Oh yes?” 

 

“She-She said that F/N’s father isn’t even in Africa like I’ve believed all this time.” Edwin looks puzzled. “Apparently h-he’s in a coma.” Father lets out a soft gasp. Meanwhile, in Mycroft’s head, mini versions of him struggle to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “At the local hospital presumably, the one where F/N’s mother works. Perhaps she cares for him along with all her other patients? But she said that he’s been in that way for some time. After a stroke when F/N was six.”

 

“How dreadful…and that poor girl too, having to cope with all of that,” Father is compassionate. “Well, the _whole_ family really.”

 

“Yes, but why didn't she tell _me?”_ Mycroft suddenly finds that his own sympathy is lacking, but he closes his mouth quickly, aware that he’s done something wrong. A blush heats up his face. How human would F/N think him in that moment? “I'm not sure if we’re meant to be together Father. I mean I’d like for us to try some more, but how can we be when she didn't even tell me about _this?”_

 

“It’s a very private thing Mycroft, why,” Edwin tries to be reasonable, “There are things about _you_ that she doesn’t know. Things that are just for a close family to know,” he corrects himself. Mycroft looks at him with a pale face, aware that he’s referring to Eurus. 

 

“Why tell me about Africa then?” he asks. 

 

“Maybe she’s just been saying that to herself,” Edwin thinks now, “So that she can cope with it, a bit like”-

 

 _“Sherlock,”_ Mycroft says wetly. Father nods slowly. They both look grave. Light flickers across their faces from the electrical strip light that’s above. “I wish she could have told me about it Father. I wish I could tell her, in my own way, that I understand, but I can’t do such a thing, can I?” 

 

“It would not be wise Mycroft.” Edwin knows that Violet wouldn’t be happy about it and if Violet’s not happy about something then _none_ of them are happy. 

 

Mycroft nods now, as if he’d expected such a thing and licks at his lips consideringly for a moment. “What am I supposed to do then? How can I show that I understand when she can’t know that I do? How can I be there for her and have any chance of making this work when I can’t even conduct a proper conversation with her half the time without messing it up? Her mother will have already told her by now that I know I bet.”

 

Edwin touches at his son’s knees and then gets up and brings another chair around because his legs are getting stiff from all the crouching. He sits down on it. “You must allow her to speak Mycroft, even if she cannot do so all the time and only a little. That’s what I have learnt from being with your mother.” Mycroft smiles a bit at that. “You must show her that you’re willing to listen and be there for her. Even if you feel angry with her then you must try not to be. You can come home and let that side of you out in front of me if you like, but do not do so in front of her. It will only make things worse. You both need to treat each other delicately.”

 

“That’s a lot of things Father…” Mycroft dabs at his eyes and blinks a little. He blows out a breath as he lowers his hands. _“Maybe”-_

 

“Now, we’ll have no talk of _that,”_ Father interrupts him sternly, “I know how much you care for the lass. We all do. Relationships aren't always easy Mycroft, but sometimes they’re worth it.” 

 

“It just feels like so much, so soon,” Mycroft tries to explain, looking at his father feebly. 

 

“Oh son, it’s always that way. Trust me.” Now Edwin gets up and puts his arms around his son. Mycroft rests the side of his head against his father’s heartbeat. The steady logic of it helps calm him down. 

 

“I’ll try Father.”

 

“Good boy.” Edwin pecks at his son’s hair. 

 

 _“Mykie?”_ Violet comes bustling into the room, but comes to a halt when she sees her son in his father’s arms. Mycroft pulls away slowly from Edwin, relishing in the moment of affection and steady support between them for as long as possible. He feels uncertain about facing Mummy, and Edwin, knowing such a thing, gestures that he should merely leave the room. Mycroft does so, passing his mother a little awkwardly. “You’re too soft on that boy,” she chides her husband, before she attends to her saucepans. Edwin knows that what she’d really like is for her to have that same type of relationship with Mycroft. He doesn’t say a word. 

 

*

 

The next day Mycroft is resigned to the fact that at some point during the day he’ll be having a conversation about what had occurred with F/N. That just seems like a fact to him, no matter how much he isn’t looking forward to such a thing and he worries that he might inadvertently end up making things worse and then they really _will_ be in trouble. 

 

When he gets to school however, his collar and tie feeling particularly tight around his neck that day, F/N isn’t there. Usually by the time that he drops Sherlock off, even though she gets up a touch later than him, she would have overtaken him and be waiting for him either outside or in the room that they use for student council meetings. She’s not there that day though, and although he can’t say that it surprises him-he has to admit that if _she’d_ just found out what he has about her-something like how Eurus is in care for instance, which he’s sure would not improve her opinion of him-then he’d be tempted to have a duvet day too, although in his case Mummy would have probably turfed him out of the room-he can’t help but feel disappointed. He trudges towards their registration room instead. 

 

He’s the first one there, but a short queue of yawning and softly spoken students has gathered there by the time that Greg finally makes an appearance. The way that Greg does a bit of a double-take and looks about in a meerkat fashion, his tie badly fastened around his neck, would have been comical in different circumstances and Mycroft smiles for a moment at the way that F/N would have surely laughed if she’d been able to witness such a thing.

 

“Where’s F/N?” Greg curtails the upturn of Mycroft’s lips. 

 

“Absent today, which should be obvious to you,” Mycroft half-drawls, sounding more like his unsophisticated brother, before at Greg’s puzzled look of concern and bewilderment, the former being there because it is highly unusual that F/N misses a single day of school at all, he makes a short tut of impatience and grabs hold of Greg’s wrist. He pulls him further up the corridor, so that they are close enough to be able to see should the teacher who takes them for registration arrive, but at a more private distance, so as not to be easily overheard. It’s quite hard for them to remain in the exact same place however because of all the bustling students. 

 

Mycroft lets go of Greg’s wrist. It is then that he realizes he doesn’t quite know what he should say to the other boy. 

 

 _“Hey…_ Mycroft? Is everything okay? You look-lost, mate?”

 

Mycroft realizes now that he’s not looking at Greg and is eyeing the floor instead. He peers up at him. Greg’s eyes are full of light and empathy. “Oh yes. I suppose I'm all right. It’s _only…”_ there’s a bit of a delay there. “When you said that I know F/N the best out of everyone, _well,_ that was a fabrication. I don’t. I only know a small piece of her, but then I'm sure that you already know what I mean when I say all of this”-

 

“I don’t actually, but well, I'm sure most people feel that way at the beginning of a relationship Mycroft and your one with her has always been more serious than mine.” 

 

Mycroft’s eyebrow rises questioningly at him. _“Really?”_

 

“Yeah.” Greg gestures a little hopelessly with his hands. “I always knew that there was more depth there even if I didn't want to face up to it for a while.” 

 

“So you don’t know what I mean then when I say that F/N’s father is in a coma and has been ever since she was six-years-old?”

 

 _“What?”_ Greg yelps, tugging at his tie a little to try and make it sit more comfortably around his neck. This isn’t helped by the fact that the collar of his uniform sticks up hopelessly too and it’s obvious that he’d gotten dressed in a rush that morning. 

 

“Yes, I'm afraid that this is not merely a case of me getting-hm, what do average people call it? Oh yes, ‘Cold feet,’ I believe.”

 

“This is not the time to be pompous Mycroft.” Greg folds his arms. “But you might like to know that my football coach called me, _‘above_ average.’” 

 

“It makes no difference. Football players are distinctly below the normal average Greg, so to be above it in terms of football just brings you up to the same scale as that of a regular person,” Mycroft begins to tell him patiently.

 

“Is that why you needed my help apologizing to F/N before?” Greg’s eyebrow rises at him. 

 

“We’re getting rather off the subject,” Mycroft looks a little embarrassed now, “We’re supposed to be”-

 

“Yeah, we’re supposed to be discussing the fact that F/N’s father is in a coma,” Greg tells him snappishly, “Only you’re not doing a very good job of worrying about anyone other than yourself right now.” 

 

It is then that Mycroft sighs, becomes more accepting of his hopelessness around the human race, even though it still frustrates him, and begins to explain the whole sorry tale to him. Finally he says, “…So, as you see, I'm rather at a loss as to what I should do about it all. I was hoping, even though it would have no doubt been difficult, that F/N would have been in school today and that we might have spoken.”

 

“You could go and visit her _after_ school,” Greg says after a moment’s delay. 

 

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking. I don’t want her to believe that I'm not giving her enough space, but I don’t want to leave her alone either,” Mycroft chuckles awkwardly and Greg’s eyes finally soften at seeing how much he cares and is clearly worried about F/N. 

 

“I'm sure she’ll be all right Mycroft…I get why she might not wanted to have talked about it though”-

 

“Me too, I just wish that she had done.”

 

“Yeah, only it’s weird that no one else has ever scuppered what she’s been saying to us before now, isn’t it?”

 

“That’s an impressive word Greg,” Mycroft comments, before he says, “I was wondering about the same thing last night.” 

 

“You know that I would have encouraged her to tell you about it if I’d known, right?” Greg asks. 

 

Mycroft looks at him a little sceptically. “I don’t see why you would have behaved that way.” 

 

“This is not military warfare Mycroft. We’re on the same side. _Anyway,”_ Greg adds with a small shake of his head, “Why did I, when I’ve known of F/N for years, never hear about this? She wasn’t off school for a long period of time, o-or anything like that, not that I remember. I never heard one of the teachers mentioning anything about it or giving her extra-time on an assignment.”

 

“Those are things that I’d like to know as well,” Mycroft assures him. 

 

“Perhaps you’ll be able to find them out if you go to hers after school today?”

 

“Do you think she’ll talk to me?” 

 

“I think, when she’s calmed down a bit and maybe got used more to the idea of you knowing, that you’re her best chance of talking to anyone,” Greg tells him wisely now, but Mycroft looks nervous. “I know that she cares about you a lot. Poor her though. It’s all right us talking here and trying to decide what to do for the best, but F/N’s had to deal with the truth for years and it can’t be easy now that its come out.” Greg is slowly starting to think of the huge weight that it would have been on her. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft murmurs, taking a moment to think of F/N again. He’d barely gotten any sleep the previous night because of it and is rather running on autopilot that morning. _“Oh.”_ He touches at Greg’s arm. “The teacher. Look.”

 

Greg looks over his shoulder to see that their registration teacher has arrived. “Oh yeah. C’mon then.” He begins to turn away, but there’s something so silent and still about Mycroft that he looks back at him. The teen’s blue eyes are wavering with self-doubt and filled with pressure. Greg might find him terribly annoying at times, but he can’t help but have sympathy for him. “You’ll be fine Mycroft. Just be calm and listen to what she’s got to say. You can do this if you can just keep level-headed about the thing, but be sympathetic to her at the same time. It’s like scoring a goal in football and being happy, but not over the top about it.”

 

“You’re sounding like my father, though with more football metaphors,” Mycroft tells him in a watery fashion. 

 

“You’re not from a sporting family, huh?” Greg smiles. “That’s okay.” He makes to move again. “We’re all different.” _But-_

 

“What if what I do and say isn’t good enough?” Mycroft asks just before Greg can turn away from him completely and the other teen looks back at him. 

 

Using all he’s learnt from sport Greg says, “Make it be. Believe in yourself for once.” 

 

“It’s not often that I'm wrong”- Mycroft chuckles.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know I'm a lot smarter than you would have ever thought I am and yeah, course I’ll pick Sherlock and John up today and take them home, so you don’t have to worry about doing such a thing.”

 

“Thank you,” Mycroft smiles at him. 

 

Greg takes his arm and gently steers him towards their registration class.

 

*

 

Mycroft’s wavering again by lunch time, asking meekly if Greg might not accompany him to F/N’s later on that day and acting a bit huffy when he can tell straight away that, that won’t be the case. 

 

“It’s you she needs to talk to,” Greg reminds him and Mycroft nods resignedly, knowing that he’s right. “You’ll have to do it at some point. I'm just her friend. _Besides,_ I don’t want to crowd her.” 

 

“Apologies for the thing.”

 

“Hey, it’s all right.” Greg touches at his arm quickly, before he goes back to his food again. 

 

*

 

Mycroft has barely made it away from the school building later on that day though, before a voice makes its way across to him, as if it’s doing so by radio. “Excuse me? Excuse me?” Mycroft stops and listens to it for a moment. Then, his mind still heavy with thoughts of F/N, he spins neatly around to face whoever it is. It’s Molly. The girl F/N has been caring for so much. She appears to have been chasing him for some time now and seems to be out of breath. 

 

“Y-You never picked Sherlock and John up today”-

 

“What is it?” he ignores her question completely. 

 

“Huh, huh,” Molly pants, her hands close to where her skirt’s flapping about her knees, “I want a word with you.”

 

“What about?” 

 

“It’s F/N. I'm worried about her.”

 

Mycroft feels a tight knot of anxiety around his chest and neck. _“Why?_ F/N was resolutely on your side during the science experiment on Saturday wasn’t she? And you haven’t seen her again since?” Molly shakes her head to that. “So _why,_ when you did the science experiment together have you got any reason to believe that there’s something wrong with F/N?” 

 

“We didn't.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Molly holds her ground a little. “We never did the science experiment. That’s why I'm worried about her. We were on our way to F/N’s house when she decided that she had to drop me off and go home by herself.”

 

_“Why?”_

 

She needed to think. I don’t know what about, but she sounded really distant, as if something had really affected her that day and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

 

Mycroft knows ruefully that it must have been the idea of him hurting her and F/N being scared about their relationship and perhaps him even getting to know her that had been the cause of that, but he still feels a bit worried-normally F/N wouldn’t have even _considered_ letting Molly, or anyone else, down, but the fact that she’d _actually_ accepted it and gone through with it is a point of anxiety to him. “I'm on my way to see her now,” he comes out of his thought to see that Molly’s looking at him a little anxiously. Mycroft tries to pretend that she’s his brother, as it’s then easier for him to be reassuring when he tells her, “We’ll have to talk first, about a lot of things, but I'm sure that she’ll be all right Molly,” he rather copies Greg there and is glad the other boy is not able to witness it or he’d tell Mycroft off for accusing him of being below average again. 

 

“Oh-Oh good, that’s good then.” Molly smiles and looks relieved now, though maybe like she thinks it had been a bit unnecessary for her to bother Mycroft in the first place. She backs away slowly from him, turns when she feels that she’s safe enough to do so and quickly scurries away towards the library, as if she’s just survived an encounter with a dangerous predator. Mycroft feels glad about it in some ways, but sad about it in another. There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the world at the moment who likes him for just being who he is. He sighs a little and continues on his way again, but to top it all off when he finally finds himself knocking on the door of F/N’s house there’s no one home. 

 

*

 

F/N enters the room that she used to be familiar with every weekend from the age of six to twelve. It had been too hard for her then and she’d finally told her mother and broken down about it all. It had stopped being about seeing her father and telling him about her day and how her week had gone as a whole, stopped being about getting excited every time he blinked because she had understood more then-coma patients didn't necessarily stop moving just because they were in the middle of such a thing-and become too hard as nothing ever seemed to change. He wasn’t her father and it was depressing to have to make that crushing realization every week. Her mother had told her daughter that though he seemed to respond more when she was there with her, it would be healthy to have a break. It had been a _long break._ One that F/N is not quite sure would have ended, or she would have had the _courage_ to end, if everything hadn’t come out in the past day like it had done. Her mother’s conversation with her had made her want to try again, so here she is. 

 

Her hands are clammy and her heart beats unevenly, as she enters the familiar smell of the sterilized room. Just entering the hospital had made her feel a rush of dizziness. Now she grounds herself in the room and takes a moment to look around. The flowers are fresh and yellow. Things in the room have shifted ever so slightly, but it is not all that different and that both comforts her and annoys her in that moment because she’s not sure how she could have coped with anything otherwise, but likewise she’d appreciate if her father could be home with them again. She can still feel the draught coming from the partially closed blinds, which rustle. It is only when her mother puts her hand upon her shoulder that she turns her attention to her father and takes a few more steps forwards. Her mother follows behind closely. The bed that he’s lying on is narrow and thin and surrounded by machines because he can’t breath unaided. It is not much of a life for him at all and yet he doesn’t seem able to let go of it any more then they are able to let go of him. She lets out a bit of a breath as she studies his face. 

 

“He’s grown weaker.” His cheeks are like quarry pits that have been sunken in. They used to be round and healthy she remembers, like apples, the sort you’d bob for at Halloween or find in a delicious kind of crumble. He used to stick his tongue in his cheek sometimes, she recalls, making it look even bigger and then she used to pretend to pop it. He always used to withdraw his tongue just before she tapped on his cheek though, making it into a game. 

 

“Yes,” her mother acknowledges quietly. She doesn’t want to remind her daughter that they don’t know how long he’ll have left with them. It’s just enough that she’s there in that moment. She strokes at her husband’s cool forehead fondly with the back of her hand. 

 

“Does he even _know_ that I'm here?” F/N asks, feeling that same sense of hopelessness that had driven her away from there in the first place. 

 

“Of course he does,” her mother reinforces in a chiding tone, hoping that her daughter will be able to continue seeing him now and make the most of the time that he has left with them. 

 

* 

 

F/N does not go to school for the rest of the week. Her mother informs the school of the situation with F/N’s blessing-she might not be normal, but she’s accepted that more now and come to terms with the fact that the support and understanding they can offer her might be what she needs instead-and they agree that she should take the rest of the week off and then come to school fresh beyond that point. Her mother also takes some time of work and they spend it catching up with one another, watching films, eating popcorn and taking proper time to visit F/N’s father. For the first time in years it is like they are a family once more. 

 

* 

 

That Friday, when F/N’s mother has returned to work after she’s made a deal with her daughter, that F/N will still go to school that evening and carry out her duty of opening the autumn ball and they’ll both try and get back into the swing of things, but be more open with one another now, Mycroft, chooses not to hope that F/N will just turn up to the ball and visits her house again after school. 

 

He tries to smile at her encouragingly when she opens the door to him, but she looks at him with a disguised expression upon her face, before she turns around and leaves the door open. 

 

Unsurely he follows her into the living room. 

 

“You must think that I'm neglecting the ball, and I'm sorry that I haven’t been there to help with the final preparations of it, but I just couldn't y’know? There were a few more important things that I had to do.” She turns around to him. “I’ll still go tonight though.” 

 

“That’s fine. There’s no need to apologize. I'm glad to hear that you’re coming.” He stares at her, wondering if he should ask her how she’s been or what she’s been doing, but not sure that she’ll grant him such knowledge even if he _does_ ask such a thing. 

 

“I went to visit my father”-

 

“F/N I'm so sorry for his situation and for looking at your journal”- the remark comes gushing out of him. 

 

She shakes her head and makes a small noise in her throat. “It’s all right”-Mycroft looks at her dubiously- _“Okay,”_ she waves her hands and Mycroft smiles a little at the gesture, “It’s not like I haven’t been mad at you for it, and I don’t want you to do it ever again”-Mycroft nods sincerely, he has no intention to-“But this time it turned out to be for the best actually…I-It made me, between what you did and my mother’s words”-

 

“She’s good at giving them,” he concedes. 

 

“Yeah,” she has to agree there, “It made me see that I had to accept this at some point, not just for myself and so I could finally stop trying to escape the fact that he wasn’t there at dinners, a-and all the times that he should have been. Like tonight.” F/N starts getting teary. “He would have loved to meet you. He would have probably have made you have dinner with us, before the ball and everything.” 

 

“That would have been nice,” Mycroft says, before he adds with a roll of his shoulders, “Though a little nerve-wracking.”

 

“Yeah,” F/N laughs a little. “But it made me realize that to actually move forward with my life and to develop relationships with other people”-Mycroft swallows-“I had to face up to it…it wasn’t enough just to think that by getting on with my life, by being an avid clubber until I focused on student council when you came along, that by doing all those things I would one day wake up and be all right with everything. How could I if I hadn’t faced up to it all? And I-I didn't like what keeping it from you and trying to hide that part of myself had started to do to us. I'm sorry if you felt I was being mean to you. I’d never intended to act in that way. It’s just whenever you were around me it seemed to come out.”

 

“You seemed to cope better when you were with Greg?” he feels grateful for her words, but he has to check. 

 

She looks sad about him doing such a thing, but struggles to explain it, “Yeah, well…to be fair our relationship has already lasted a lot longer than mine did with Greg, and, well”-

 

 _“Yes?”_

 

“My relationship with you has always felt a lot stronger too.” Her cheeks go red. 

 

Mycroft takes pleasure in such a thing and her words for a moment. “It’s all right.” He steps closer to her until his head is above her ducked one. She looks at him. _“Okay,”_ he uses her own words from earlier on her and she smiles a little bit. “I'm not going to deny that it hurt me, or that, quite honestly, it put me off preparing for our date, as well as my own fear of messing things up, which I don’t seem to be able to avoid when I'm around you”-

 

“Oh _Myc…”_ she feels touched, “None of it was _your_ fault. Even the annoying things about you make me happy sometimes just to think of them. It’s who you are.”

 

He smiles and feels heartened to hear that, but when she grasps instinctively at his hand and he feels something that is abrasive and cold there, along with her skin, he looks down. It is her African bracelet. He fidgets with the white string of it and examines it between his fingers for a moment. Her breath snuffles as he does such a thing. “This is where your story about Africa started from?” She exhales and nods. “But where did the bracelet come from?”

 

“It’s”- and now she begins to shake a little, but tries to collect herself because she wants to be more open with him. “It was the last thing my dad ever gave me, before _he”-_

 

 _“F/N,”_ Mycroft murmurs to her, “I'm sorry.” 

 

“He gave it to me and I was so happy,” she recalls, tears wavering in her eyes now, “It’s the last proper memory that I have of him, one where he wasn’t spaced out on the chair…” she swipes at her eyes. “There was this beautiful song on the radio. He got up and I stopped examining my new bracelet and went to stand with him. I put my feet on top of his and we danced all around the living room, even though, like you know, there’s barely any space…I started telling people that story because, well, I don’t know why I did so really, but as soon as I did it made me feel better,” she sounds exhilarated. “I could just be _normal._ It sounded pleasanter than the truth, though giving him a new wife made me feel a bit guilty after a while, but I did it initially so that he wouldn’t be lonely I think and people didn't have to respond to what I said or feel too awkward about it because plenty of parents aren't together any more, so I just carried on doing it. I wanted to believe that everything would be okay”-

 

“You were so sad though, F/N. I think people felt awkward without you intending them to,” he tells her.

 

“I know. I'm so sorry for lying to you Mycroft.”

 

 _“Shh,”_ he shakes his head; “It doesn’t matter, as long as you know now that you can trust me with these things. I might not be quite human, but I _can_ keep a secret.”

 

She laughs, before she becomes more solemn. “I’ve treated everyone awfully though. My dad by making it sound like he’d just upped and left us, like he was no good, not _worthwhile…”_ tears sparkle in her eyes as she looks at him. “My mum by not going to visit him and not trying to really help support her and treating you and everyone else, all the people who have supported me, with less respect and trust than any of you deserved.” She lets out a sigh. “Molly must think I'm awful for taking her home last Saturday and not doing the science experiment with her.”

 

“She did mention something about that,” Mycroft acknowledges and F/N looks surprised that he already knows about such a thing, “But what I picked up on was the fact that she was worried about you and not that she thought you were dreadful or anything of the sort,” he says, “We _all_ have been concerned about you.” He puts a steady and reassuring arm around her shoulders and holds him close to his chest. “But I need to tell you a few things too.” She peers up at him. “Firstly that Greg knows. Forgive me, but I had to tell someone. I couldn't keep it to myself.” She nods. She doesn’t think that Greg is the _worst_ person who he could have told and tries to understand. It must have come as a shock after all, finding all this out. 

 

 _“Secondly,_ my father knows too.” He’s worried about the thing. 

 

 _“Okay.”_ She looks a little more annoyed. She’s a little nervous about the idea of Mycroft’s parents knowing the truth about her. What will they think? Will they fuss around her when she next visits? She likes how they've always been quite affectionate and interested in her, but she doesn’t want pity. 

 

“But they've been kind and understanding about the thing,” Mycroft must sense some discomfort radiating from her, for he tries to reassure her now, “I don’t think they’ll bring it up unless you do so with them. I can have a word with them if”-

 

“No, it’s fine.” F/N’s hand rises and that settles that. 

 

“There are a couple of other things that I”-

 

 _“All right,”_ she’s short with him. 

 

Mycroft knows that he’s testing her limits of discussing the subject right now and proceeds with caution. She might be trying to be more open with him, but it won’t happen overnight after all. “Firstly, why did no one know to begin with? How did you manage to keep it a secret?”

 

“Well, it happened during the summer holidays. Mum told the Headmaster at the primary school of course, just in case I acted out or had to miss a day. He, of course, as you know, is very kind to everyone and although I presume that he told the other teachers, none of them said a word and this not exactly being a small place it was quite easy to keep it private. When I got to secondary school however Mum wanted to tell the Headmistress, but I begged her not to. It’s like I said _I”-_

 

“Wanted to be normal?” 

 

She nods and lets out a breath of relief that he’s understood such a thing. “I didn't want to worry that it might be brought up at any moment.” 

 

He catches sight of the time via the carriage clock that is on the dark mantelpiece. “I think we should get ready for the ball now. I’ll go home and then come back here. Would that suit you?” She nods. 

 

Mycroft assesses her with his eyes for a moment, before he makes to go past her. _However-_

 

 _“Mycroft?”_ He looks back at her. “Thank you.” F/N pulls him into a hug. Unsteady he holds onto her back quickly and she wraps her arms behind his neck, breathing in his security and warmth. 

 

“It’s my pleasure.” His nose nudges delicately at her neck, feeling comforted by the fact that she seems more like the person who he’s used to knowing, but glad that he has this new level of knowledge about her all the same. 

 

She lets go of him and they look at one another a little nervously for a moment, before they part. 

 

* 

 

F/N’s checking her appearance quickly in the mirror when there comes a knock on the door. 

 

She hadn’t expected herself to feel hugely comfortable at the autumn ball. She’s not the sort who is used to dressing up, though performing _is_ something she has history of, having pretended to other people that one thing was true for such a long time after all. But now however, and because of the past week, she’s feeling a little more insecure than she would do usually-the after effects of it all are still taking a toll and making her mind and body feel more tired. She pinches her lip in between her teeth, as she examines her figure. The black dress hugs her a little, but it’s not too extravagant or out there, which she’s grateful for. The most elaborate thing about it is the navy bow around her waist. She’s wearing a slightly lighter blue hairband to match it. Her thoughts with it had been-as soon as she’d known that she’d be attending the ball with Mycroft-that it would probably go well with the more muted colours that Mycroft usually favoured. Now however she’s not too sure about it. She’s got her h/c hair down and she’s worried that, that, along with her dress, makes her look too young. Maybe because she’s helping to open the ball she should have gone for something more mature? Maybe that’s also what _Mycroft_ would have preferred her to do? There comes another knock on the door and she bites down on her lip in surprise, drawing blood. 

 

 _“Coming,”_ she moves quickly out of her bedroom, grabbing her clutch purse on the way and going down the stairs, hoping that the dress will work out after all. She takes a bit of a deep breath, before she pulls the front door wide open. _“Mycroft,”_ she breathes now, her eyes flickering like the stars that are just about peeking over their navy blanket, as she takes him in. He’s wearing a deep black suit, dark blue shirt and light blue tie. His shoes are polished within an inch of their life. Her head spins a little as she dives into those blue eyes of his and she finds herself thinking that it’s quite a pleasant evening for autumn and in terms of the life she’s used to living.

 

 _“F/N,”_ he murmurs, equally taken by her, “You look”-she holds her breath-“Extraordinarily pretty.” 

 

 _“Worthwhile?”_ she teases. 

 

“Very much so.” His eyes sparkle. He feels heartened to find her in a joking state, and though he knows that her heart is still aching, he feels that perhaps he’d done the right thing in coming to see her earlier. 

 

“You look”-she tilts her head, as she stares at him and Mycroft begins to feel apprehensive- _“Wonderful.”_ She doesn’t seem to know whether that is enough of a compliment for him and he finds the courage from somewhere to draw her hand up and kiss her chastely between the knuckles to reassure her that it is enough, before he leads her gently out of the house. 

 

“Shall we?” he asks.

 

“Yeah.” She locks the house behind her, inserting the key into the cream clutch purse after it’s done and takes his arm. They talk about ordinary, everyday things and she begins to feel more and more relaxed and safe with Mycroft by her side. 

 

As they approach the school however and begin to see people that they recognize her stomach flutters with nerves and Mycroft feels more resistance from her arm, almost as if he has to drag her along. Knowingly he decreases their pace and she looks at him gratefully. He gazes back at her with those blue eyes, which are stable and unwavering. 

 

“It’s not a huge opening thing that we’ll have to do is it?” She’s nervous. “It’s not that I'm backing out or anything, but”-

 

“It will no doubt be very short,” Mycroft assures her, “People will want to start getting frivolous themselves. Not that we’ll er”- he breaks off awkwardly, a flush rising from his neck, but she squeezes at his arm to tell him that she understands what he means. “In any case, we have somewhere else to be first.”

 

 _“Hm?”_ She looks at him in alarm. 

 

“Nothing to worry about,” he tells her, before he guides her to the side of the primary school instead. Her heart beats unevenly, for she doesn’t like surprises at the best of times, but certainly not after the past week. “I just thought, after our conversation earlier, that it might be a good idea for you to see a few friends first.”

 

 _“Friends?”_ She looks at him curiously, not getting who he might mean.

 

 _“F/N!”_ They start and look ahead to see Molly and Sherlock not standing too far away. Greg is also with them-and must have brought them there-but unlike the others, who are in casual clothes, as they cannot attend the dance, Greg who can, is wearing a dress that are in the colours of the football team. Mycroft looks horrified that you can see part of Greg’s legs, but they are not shaved. The sight of them makes F/N giggle however and she feels grateful for the peck on the cheek that Greg gives her, the swift hug that he bestows on her with Mycroft watching and the look of understanding that fills his eyes as he pulls away from her. 

 

“You all right?” he asks her gently. 

 

“Yeah.” She gives him a bit of an embarrassed smile, before she quickly turns her attention to the others. “What about you two? I'm so sorry that you can’t come to the ball tonight.”

 

“You look really pretty F/N,” Molly enthuses, clenching her hands in excitement and F/N smiles at the way it seems that Molly wants to have her life once more. She might have suspected F/N of being unhappy of late, but she is unburdened by the knowledge of F/N’s father. To her F/N is a normal girl and someone she should look up to. Mycroft smiles a little at the difference in his girlfriend. _Now,_ taking pleasure in being able to be her more normal self, F/N looks confident and happy. F/N however catches Molly giving Sherlock a sideways glance. She thinks then that she might not be the _only_ one who’s interested in a Holmes and that she might be talking to Molly about the thing in a few years time. 

 

“I’ve never really been that bothered about the ball, so it’s not a problem,” Sherlock shrugs and looks sullenly away from them all. 

 

Mycroft and F/N exchange a glance, wondering if he will still feel like that when his dances come around. 

 

 _“Sherlock?”_ F/N steps forward. “Would you mind coming with me for a moment?” She glances at Mycroft now, but though he looks curious he doesn’t seem to have a problem with her talking to his brother. 

 

He nods and they walk a short distance away, whilst Greg gestures, asking what that’s all about?

 

 _“Yeah?”_ Sherlock asks F/N a little aggressively. 

 

F/N looks at him kindly. “I don’t know how exactly you feel about me being in a relationship with your brother”-Sherlock pulls a face-“Well, yeah,” F/N amends, “Unfortunately that’s obviously going to be part of it, but just think, Mycroft might be pulling faces at _you_ one day!” 

 

Sherlock looks deeply unimpressed with her. “He already does,” he informs her now, “Mummy says that he’s going to get stuck like that one day, but _I_ think it’s already happened.”

 

F/N cannot help but smile at that. The brothers manage to sound as important as one another! “But you don’t have to be different around me, y’know? I am still the same person that I was before Mycroft and I started dating. I haven’t changed. Its just added an extra layer, like the varnish you put on your pirate ship before. I'm still me. We can still have sword fights and”- she realizes now that just like Sherlock can still play with her and her relationship with him doesn’t all have to be about Mycroft, she can still be normal at times too. It doesn’t have to be all about her father and what’s happened to him, though she feels glad now that she’s acknowledged that side and doesn’t have to feel the weight of it upon her as badly as before. 

 

“But what if Mycroft and you _aren't_ together?” Sherlock blurts out suddenly because as kind as F/N is trying to be to him she just _isn’t_ getting it. 

 

“Are you afraid that I'm going to hurt your brother?” F/N asks him now, before she regrets putting it quite so bluntly. 

 

Sherlock looks off to the side. F/N studies him and tries to conjure the right words. “Even if I am,” Sherlock gets there, before she does, “I know that my brother’s pretty hopeless around people anyway.” F/N looks instinctively back now to see that whilst Greg is busy engaging Molly in conversation and making her laugh with the little sashays and catwalk steps that he’s doing in his dress, Mycroft is a little removed from them and looking back and forth between them and Sherlock and her. When she catches his eye he smiles at her nervously and looks away. “No one expects you to be together all that long,” Sherlock goes on, which makes F/N wonder whether his parents had said anything or whether this is something that he’s just decided all for himself. “So what’s the point?” Sherlock continues and F/N decides that it’s probably the latter, “Of me acting the same with you? As soon as you split up with my brother you’re not going to want to play with me any more. He’s ruined you for me.” He shrugs again and looks away from her. 

 

F/N looks at him long and hard for a moment. “Of course I will. Whatever happens between Mycroft and me is not going to interfere with you and me. You’ll still be my friend and if he can’t deal with that then it will be his problem,” she says, determined about the thing. 

 

 _“Really?”_ Sherlock looks at her dubiously now, not believing that she’ll really be so bold as to go against his brother’s wishes, _especially_ if Mycroft might be in pain because of it. 

 

“Don’t you know that I'm a better pirate than that?” She gets a bit of a grin on her face when she says, “Even if I have to sneak out in the dead of night just to avoid your brother, so that I can see you then I will. Think of it as an adventure.”

 

Sherlock beams and they naturally go into sword-fighting mode, pretending that their swords are clanging against one another’s and making the sound effects in between their teeth, before F/N picks him up and carries him over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Whilst Sherlock giggles and slaps her on the back to try and make her let go of him, she carries him back towards the others. 

 

If Mycroft had looked horrified before by the state of Greg’s legs then it is nothing to what he looks like now. He quickly scurries up to them, meeting them halfway and the others follow. “Your dress!” He looks anxiously between the delighted form of his brother, who looks like Mycroft has come to spoil his fun and F/N’s flushed, but happy face. “Sherlock’s shoes are all”-

 

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” F/N slowly puts the youngest Holmes down now and examines the streaks of mud that are on her dress a little sadly. Sherlock looks at her carefully. “Worth it though.” Sherlock’s face cracks into a small, impish smile.

 

 _“Here,”_ Mycroft offers her a handkerchief, glad that she has a good relationship with his brother, but not knowing what comes over her sometimes. For a rational person of mostly good logic she can be terribly instinctive, but then again she hadn’t had much of a childhood, had she? 

 

F/N uses the handkerchief to wipe off most of the dirt and then goes off to put it in the closest bin, before she makes her way back to them. 

 

“Let’s open this dance,” F/N declares, “And then,” she looks at Molly who’s gazing up at her impressionably, “Over this weekend we’re going to use that crystal growing kit at mine, so ask your parents if tomorrow’s okay with them, all right?”

 

Molly nods. “You’re really okay?” she asks. 

 

“Yes,” F/N hugs her, “I’ve been going through a few things, and maybe I’ll tell you about them soon, but I'm okay.” Molly beams now and Mycroft looks proud. F/N’s making little steps, but they’re still encouraging. 

 

Sherlock however says, “You can do that over at ours.” F/N and Molly look at him in astonishment. 

 

“What my younger brother means is that with our parents permission inclusive we would like nothing more than for the pair of you to visit us tomorrow,” Mycroft corrects, but F/N smiles. 

 

“Let’s go and open this dance!”

 

*

 

Lined up in the gym with a rectangular space free, F/N and Mycroft listen to Headmistress Adler a little nervously. She looks even more like something that might sting you and leave you for dead that evening with her blood red lipstick freshly on and her flared lashes around her dark eyes. The dress she’s wearing is like a trap in itself: white and innocent. 

 

“…And now, as decided by the exquisite members of the Parent-Teacher Association”- F/N and Mycroft exchange a glance. 

 

“More like the Parent-Teacher _Annoyance,”_ Mycroft murmurs close to F/N’s ear and to his pleasure she, for once, doesn’t find his sarcasm annoying and has to cover her mouth to subdue her laughter. The Parent-Teacher Association have only ever given them more work. 

 

Headmistress Adler, who has just gestured at them, looks rather _annoyed_ herself, “I give you the Head of the Student Council to open our dance with his chosen partner, Mycroft Holmes and F/N L/N!”

 

A couple of people laugh and jeer and there is some half-hearted clapping going on, but F/N tries to ignore it, despite her thumping heart, as she allows Mycroft to lead her out onto the floor and take confidence. 

 

They come to a stop and face each other naturally, but Mycroft puts his hands out towards her in a rather splayed awkward position. “We should have practiced hm?”

 

“It’s all right,” F/N is further heartened when she hears Greg telling off someone who had just cried out that they should get on with it. Whilst some of the other students and staff are distracted by the kerfuffle she takes Mycroft’s large and slightly sweaty hand in hers and tries to overlook the shiver that it sends up her spine. She places it firmly on her waist, which tingles in effect, and then loosely grasps his other hand with hers. “I think we’re ready to go.” She looks at him, ready for him to lead her. 

 

He looks at her in amazement, as they begin to sway together. They do such a thing clumsily at first, before their bodies get more in tune with one another. “How is it that you always know what to do when I don’t?”

 

“I think the fact that I didn't manage to call for an ambulance correctly when what happened to my dad did, like I’ve heard of little children doing since”-

 

“What happened to your father is _not_ your fault,” Mycroft murmurs in her defence. “Some people might have been able to call for one, but that was an exceptional circumstance and we all act differently.” 

 

“You would have probably been able to do it though.” There’s a flicker of heat between them. 

 

“I'm not sure about _that.”_

 

 _“Mycroft Holmes!”_ she scoffs at his modesty. “You would have probably been able to recite the emergency number as soon as you came out of the womb!” 

 

Mycroft smiles now. “If I’d known who my brother would be in a few years time then I probably would have made sure of the thing.” He twirls her now and she feels momentarily excited as her back comes to press against his chest, before they return to the hold position once more. The music they’re dancing to is only a basic ballroom waltz, but complicated enough for two people who prefer to avoid physical activity and who have never danced before. 

 

“I think it made me want to be more prepared in the future though,” F/N tells him, trying to get back on track and ignore how her heart is nervous for more pleasanter reasons-every shift of his skin and movement he makes seems to echo through her. “It helped encourage me to know as much as I could about anything that I was getting into.”

 

“That’s what makes you so good in the student council?” They sway together and she nods. 

 

They focus on their steps for a little while. 

 

Then, when the song is almost over, Mycroft says, “You know,” as F/N’s head lingers close to his shoulder and she pulls back from him, “Everything’s going to be okay now, don’t you? _Properly_ okay?” She looks at him and he stares earnestly back at her. “I know it must feel odd, everyone knowing, and I know that it cannot be easy for you whenever you go and see him, I can’t imagine what _that_ must be like”-

 

“It’s pretty awful, but I'm glad I’ve started doing so again. I felt bad before, for not doing so…you must think I'm a terrible person?”

 

 _“No,”_ Mycroft murmurs, pulling her a little closer now and moving his hands to her waist instead, “I think you’re a very good person who has been doing her best with the life that she has been given.” She makes a soft sound of encouragement in her throat. “And I think now, from now on, you must do your best to let us all help you, all right?” He cups her chin; so that he can make sure that his message has gone through to her. She nods at him, before they dance more comfortably together. She knows there will be good and bad days, but right then she doesn’t feel too worried about the future. Mycroft twirls her again.


End file.
